


The Tigers Come at Night

by shesasurvivor (starkist)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catching Fire Spoilers, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkist/pseuds/shesasurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced into prostitution in the Capitol, Katniss and Peeta find a way to seek refuge in the only people who understand: each other. But when they begin to sleep together for comfort in the supposed safety of their own homes, an unplanned occurrence makes the third Quarter Quell more difficult than it already is. Catching Fire AU. WARNING: Forced prostitution, non-con  sexual situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new story I've had in mind for quite while, and I just couldn't resist writing it. It's much darker subject matter than anything I've written before, and this story will dive into some uncomfortable situations. Hopefully the payoff will be worth it!
> 
> Huge thanks to feeding_geese, allies-person, and Chelzie for their help with this!

"Effie said we have to be on the train at one. I wonder what time it is," Peeta says, glancing around.

 

"Almost midnight," I reply. I pluck a chocolate flower from a cake with my fingers and nibble on it, so beyond worrying about manners.

 

Peeta gives me a concerned look. "We should probably be leaving soon, then, right? It's unlike Effie to be late for a schedule."

 

Peeta is right. Effie is perpetually fretting about schedules and making deadlines. It's a good thing, since without her we would probably never make it anywhere on time. But tonight I can't say I really care. "I'm sure she'll be here soon," I tell him.

 

Right on cue, a familiar voice trills at my elbow. "Come along, you two. It’s time to move along, or we won’t make it to our next destination on time," she says with a serious face. Peeta and I give each other a glance. Effie is usually so... perky. This more subdued behavior seems unlike her.

 

"All right, Effie," Peeta tells he. "We're ready to go. I just want to get the cakes the bakers here said they'd give me before we go."

 

"We can arrange to have it sent before us. There's another appointment you need to make before you reach the train."

 

This gets our attention. What else do we have to do? The last we had been told, the party was the only event on our agenda for the night. Then we were supposed to be on our way home to 12 at one. "I don't remember you mentioning that, Effie," Peeta says, curious.

 

"There's been a change of plans, dear," she huffs, and I can just tell she doesn't approve. Which is interesting in and of itself. Effie is so big on following schedules and being punctual that if she didn't know about a change of plans, it probably means she didn't know about it either. "It shouldn't take long. Just follow me, please."

 

Effie sets off immediately without checking to see if we're following her. At a loss, the only thing Peeta and I can do is follow her. We weave through the crowd at the party, in the exact opposite direction of the exit through the big doors. Peeta and I keep shooting each other questioning looks, but it's no good. Neither of us can guess what's going on.

 

At last we come to a stop, just as we reach a tall, thin man in an official looking uniform. He can't be much older than Darius back home, but the uniform he's wearing isn't a Peacekeeper uniform. It's one I don't recognize. One much more dignified.

 

"This is about as far as I can take you!" Effie informs us. Her voice is as upbeat as ever, but there's something about the look on her face that seems off. Maybe it's because she won't look either of us in the eyes. But she seems to disapprove of something about this whole situation. And for some reason, I don't think it's just because it's throwing off her entire schedule.

 

"Where are we going, Effie?" I ask.

 

"I'm afraid that's highly classified information," she informs us. "You'll just have to follow your attendant from here. He'll take you where you need to go."

 

Peeta and I exchange another glance. "Where is this order coming from, Effie?" Peeta asks.

 

She looks like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "From President Snow, of course," she says. "He has the final say on everything about your itinerary."

 

That's true. And unfortunately, Peeta and I both know this all too well. Snow has final say on most of our lives, much more than I care for, especially since we won the Games and were crowned victors. Peeta looks about as impressed as I do, but he also knows not to question this too much.

 

"Go on," Effie encourages us. "I'll be down here when you're finished. Come find me as soon as you can. We must be on the train as soon as possible, or we'll be late to the welcoming ceremony in 12 for sure."

 

"All right, Effie," Peeta assures her. As she nods her acknowledgement to us, we walk on, joining the Capitol attendant, who remains wordless beyond a nod of the head in our direction. We follow the attendant out the hall, down long hallways and through corridors of the colossal mansion. Peeta and I don’t dare speak a word to each other for some unspoken reason. We’re lead to a door somewhere above the raucous of the party below. Its silence is in stark contrast to it. The attendant raps gently on one of the doors. It swings open, and a portly man with auburn hair and a pointed beard greets us.

 

“Sir,” is the only word the attendant offers, and with a bow to the man, ushers us inside. We exchange another glance, unsure, before Peeta cautiously steps forward, placing himself between the man and me. I hear the man thank the attendant for something, then give him something. Then the door shuts.

 

The room we’re in is ornately decorated in red and gold furnishings. A four-post bed that’s bigger than any I’ve ever seen before fills out one side of it. An elegant couch sits opposite. There’s a desk, and a whole personal bar, complete with bottles of different kinds of spirits and glasses to drink them with. A large screen that’s showing highlights from tonight’s ceremony and the following festivities is on display on one wall. It snaps off silently as the man crosses the room to the bar and pours himself another glass from a half-finished bottle of wine. He turns towards us, raising the bottle in the air. "Would you care for some?"

 

"No, thank you," Peeta says in a stilted voice. I just shake my head. I've only had wine once before, and it made my head feel fuzzy. Something tells me that I'm going to need to be in full control of my mental resources tonight.

 

The man only shrugs, and turns back to the bar to cork the bottle again. He half-halfheartedly shoves it aside and moves over to the couch, sitting with both feet firmly on the ground, his legs spread apart slightly. He fixes Peeta and me with the kind of stare I've seen Cray, our Head Peacekeeper back in 12 with something of a reputation for preying on desperate girls, use when he knows he has another victim he can take advantage of. It's a look that makes me shiver, and automatically take a step closer to Peeta. He seems to sense it, too, because he moves again to once more place himself between the man and me.

 

"May as well get down to business, then," he says with a smirk. "Just start how you always start. I want to see how you usually do it."

 

Peeta looks back at me, his face as confused as mine, before answering the man. "Um... do what?" he asks cautiously.

 

The man raises his eyebrows and lets out a laugh. "How you usually make love, of course!"

 

My eyes widen; I can tell, even standing behind him, that Peeta is shocked as well. "Here?" he asks, his voice sounding incredulous.

 

"Of course here!" the man booms, and there's an edge of anger creeping into his voice. "I didn't pay Snow top dollar for nothing."

 

Instantly, I've turned on my heel and have made a beeline for the door. I try desperately to get it to open, but it won't budge. Peeta is still behind me, attempting to reason with the man. "If you think we're going to do anything in front of you..." he's saying, but the man is on his feet, that anger having shown up in full force. Even though the door won't move, I keep trying, however in vain.

 

"See here!" the man is shouting back at Peeta. "I paid a lot of money for you two. Do you have any idea how much money the Star-crossed Lovers of District 12 were running for? I intend to get what I paid for! Should I tell Snow how uncooperative you're being?"

 

This has the desired effect on us. Peeta says nothing more. I refuse to turn around, but I stop my futile attempts to open the door. "Don't bother trying," the lecherous man tells me. "It's locked, and only I know the code to get out." Of course. In our silence, the man knows he has us. "Now... let's get started, shall we?" he asks in a calmer voice.

 

For a minute, the ticking of a clock in the room is the only sound. Then Peeta speaks in a hollow voice. "Come on Katniss."

 

It takes me another minute to work up the courage to turn around. Even then, it's only because the threat of my insubordination making its way back to Snow frightens me. There is no telling how he might take his anger out over the news. He's already threatened to kill Gale. This is the kind of thing that might make him act on his words. Possibly even more than that. Prim and my mother aren’t safe from his retaliation, either. Reluctantly, I turn and slowly make my way to Peeta's side, refusing to make eye contact with the man. Refusing to look anywhere except down at the carpet. The man, mollified that he's going to get his way, sits back down on the couch.

 

"How would you like us to start?" Peeta asks the man, despite his earlier instructions to start however we "always start." The only problem with that is that there is no usual way. We've never done this with each other. I don't know about Peeta, but I've never done this at all.

 

"Oh, I don't care," the man says, sitting back as he takes another sip of the wine. "Just kiss each other or something. All I care about is getting the authentic experience."

 

I find that a little ironic, considering he's forcing us to do this against our will, in a way neither of us would ever choose to do on our own. But it is the Capitol, I guess. Peeta gives a little nod of his head, then grabs me by the hand and leads me over to one side of the bed. Then he turns me around to face him. He pulls me to him, taking me in his arms. Just as he always does when he's about to kiss me for the audience. Only now his eyes have an even more apologetic look to them than ever. Begging my forgiveness for a transgression he has no control over. Then he kisses me. It's long and deep, so as to put up a good show. I do my part too, wrapping my arms around his neck, running my hand through his hair. It’s our usual act for the audience. Peeta runs his own hands up and down my body, but I can tell by the way he's touching me that it's making him uncomfortable. We make the kissing last as long as possible; just as we sense the man is becoming bored with the lips only stuff, Peeta begins to kiss his way down to my neck, his lips sucking on different spots of my skin. I'll admit it sends a shiver through me, but I can't say I really enjoy it. Not under these circumstances.

 

Even with all this heavy kissing, though, we can sense the man becoming impatient for us to take it to the next level. I'm dreading it. Peeta pulls me closer to him, and leans down so his lips are next to my ear, pretending to whisper loving words. Instead he gives me instructions. "Take off my shirt and coat. Don't question me, just do it. Don't look at him."

 

I nod, and reach up to pull on the shoulders of his dress jacket. I pause for a minute, wondering what to do with it, if I'm supposed to hang it down somewhere or lay it on the bed. Peeta saves me by grabbing it and tossing it on the floor, trying his best to appear playful. I unbutton his shirt next, and follow Peeta's example, tossing it on top of the jacket. He pulls me back to him for more instructions under the guise of loving words. "I'm going to take off your dress now," he warns me. "Run your hands over my chest or something." I do as I'm told, grateful, as ironic as it is, that Peeta is here to guide me through this. We seem to have an unspoken agreement not to let this man know the truth about the situation. That this is the first time for me. That if it were up to me, I wouldn't do this at all. With anyone.

 

Peeta is fumbling with the zipper on my dress. I'm about to ask if he needs help or for me to turn around, when he gets it. I feel the cooler air of the room hit my skin that had been protected by the dress, giving me goosebumps. Peeta doesn't pull the dress off right away, though. First he hugs me tightly against his chest. I'm not sure why. There's nothing sexual about it. I think he may be giving me a chance to prepare myself before he does take it off. He knows I'm squeamish about this kind of thing from when I washed his clothes in the arena. And this situation isn't exactly the easiest way to get used to it.

 

"Take it off!" the man snaps from behind Peeta, who nods and reluctantly moves to follow instruction. I brace myself the best I can. Outside my mother, Cinna, and my prep team, no one has seen me undressed before. Not even Peeta, even though I've basically seen him naked, if covered. At the rate things have been going, I didn't really doubt that he'd see me one day, but not like this. It'd be one thing if he were seeing me alone. Having one of the Capitol's most affluent citizens witness the moment makes it a whole new kind of awful.

 

The dress comes off easily enough. It settles for a split second around my elbows, and even though it's tempting to leave it that way, I shrug it the rest of the way off so that it falls to the floor, pooling around my feet. I try not to look at anyone--not Peeta, and definitely not the man watching this all unfold before his very eyes. Peeta directs me toward the bed, and I move to climb on. He follows. There's more kissing. Tentatively, he puts his hands on me and begins to touch me. It might feel nice under different circumstances, but it's only awkward knowing our onlooker is scrutinizing each touch and reaction. I try my best to look like I'm enjoying it. I suspect I'm failing.

 

Peeta pulls me to him again, and I know more instructions are coming. More warnings about things that have to happen. He lays me down on the bed first, gives me a kiss, then kisses his way up to my ear. "Smile. Make it look like I'm telling you something wonderful," he instructs. I throw my head back and give a laugh, hoping it sounds remotely genuine. "Good," he says. "We're going to have to take this to the next level soon, before he gets mad. I'm going to touch you... you know. Down there. It'll make it easier later on. It won't stop it from hurting completely, but it will help." I want to ask him how he knows all this, if he's done this before, but I know better than to do that. It does make me curious, though. Has he been with someone before? Did he learn this from his brothers? Either way, right now I'm glad that one of us knows what they're doing. I can sort out any other feelings I have about it later.

 

He procrastinates as long as he can, kissing me everywhere he can above the waistline. For a minute I think he'll even avoid my breasts, but eventually he plants a couple of cautious ones on them for show. Finally he slips his hand slowly below the elastic of my underwear. I have to resist the urge to instinctively shove him away for his transgression. Instead I screw my eyes shut and try to think about something else. I cringe when they make contact, but a minute later I relax a little. It isn't so bad. Peeta touches me the way I imagine he touches his paintings; the same attentive way I remember him working at the camouflage station during training last year. He pokes and rubs at things, even sticking a finger up inside me. I have to shove away that same urge to push him away, but I think he senses how uncomfortable it makes me because he doesn't keep it in me for very long.

 

A loud moan rings out in the room. Peeta and I look at each other, confused because it came from neither of us. Then the same thought seems to occur to us both at the same time. Since it's easier for me to look than for him, I crane my head to see around Peeta's body, dreading what I'm going to find.  Even so, the sight that greets me takes me aback. Our friend has unzipped his pants and taken himself out, rubbing his pink member as he watches us. He gives me an especially creepy grin when he sees me watching him. I avert my gaze immediately back to Peeta, who confirms the truth about what's going on from my expression.

 

"Ignore it," he mouths down at me with a tired expression. He sets back to work, while I stare up at a fixed spot on the ceiling, wondering how on earth any of this is supposed to be appealing under any circumstances.

 

"Aren't you going to finish undressing each other?" the man asks. It may sound like an innocent enough question, but it's clear he's giving us another order. Peeta and I look at each other with a frown. Then Peeta sits back on his haunches and maneuvers himself off the bed. It goes against every instinct I have to watch him take off his underwear. I couldn't watch him in the arena when he was on the brink of death and there was nothing that was going to happen there. Now Peeta is healthy and robust, and we're expected to... well, it's clear this man thinks I got over being uncomfortable well before tonight, and wants to see a girl who's used to this by now. But try as I might, I can't watch him as he pulls them off. My eyes stay glued to that same fixed spot on the ceiling, wondering if I could somehow make it through this whole experience without actually getting a good look at him. If he's on top of me, I shouldn't see too much.

 

The man barks out a laugh that's something between disbelief and amusement. "You're not even hard yet!" he says, and I can only assume he means Peeta. "Have her suck you. That should get you up in no time."

 

Well, there goes that hope. I don't move. Neither does Peeta, for a moment. Then he speaks in a low voice. "Come on, Katniss." He takes hold of my hand and pulls me up gently. And that is when I get my first view of him. Strong and filled out compared to the last time I saw him in the arena, but I knew that already. I try not to look at his penis. He's giving me such a sorrowful expression, watching me avoid making eye contact with this part of him. He knows how lost, how uncomfortable I am. Instead I try to focus on the part of his left leg where the stump meets the prosthetic. This is something that's completely new to me, since he still had his leg the last time he stripped down in front of me in that river. And I've only seen flashes of his prosthetic leg, when I pulled his pant leg up during the interview with Caesar after we won the Games, or when he's seated himself in such a way that the fabric of his pant leg naturally pulls up.

 

He sits himself on the bed beside me. "I'll lie down. Then you can just put your lips on it and suck," he explains quietly. But it isn't quietly enough.

 

"She hasn't done this before?" the man asks. He's dropped hold of himself and is leaning towards us in interest. He has an expression I can’t quite read, but I know I don't like it. Peeta doesn't like either, judging from the way he responds.

 

"She's never done oral before," he answers in a defensive voice. "She wasn't comfortable with it yet."

 

"She'll get comfortable with it soon enough, won't she!?" The man gives a creepy kind of laugh and leans back again, taking himself in hand once more. "Well that makes this even hotter. First times are one of my favorite fetishes."

 

I try to hide my horror at this revelation, and betray the truth to him. I don't think any good will come of it if he knows this is my first time for the whole thing. What would he do, if he found out? Would he want to join in? Force Peeta to watch while the man took me for the first time? It's a terrible thought, and if I think about it too much I'm only going to start panicking. I can't afford to do that. I'm just more relieved than ever that Peeta is here to help guide me through this. All I have to do is pretend I know what I'm doing. Which won't be easy. This acting stuff is hard enough for me as it is.

 

But as I gingerly crawl on my hands and knees and move over Peeta, I feel him take hold of my hand. He gives me a reassuring squeeze. It's not too different from the one he gave me on reaping day, what now feels like a whole lifetime ago. We seemed so innocent back then compared to now. But Peeta is sending me the same message now that he did then--I'm not alone. He's here in this beside me. And he'll do whatever he can to protect me. I glance up at him, hoping he can see in my eyes how grateful I am. Then, with a deep breath, I touch him for the first time.

 

It doesn't feel how I expect it to feel. I don't really know how I expected it to feel, but it doesn't seem like what one might expect. It's warm, and squishy. And it twitches when I touch it. Peeta lets out a little noise at the contact, and for a moment I glance back at him, afraid I've somehow hurt him. He looks embarrassed, but not in pain. "Keep going," he mouths, his eyes glancing at the man for a split second, then back to me. It takes me a second to work up the courage again, but then I set back to my task at hand.

 

I decide to just get it over with. Closing my eyes, I pull him up straight so I have a good shot with my mouth. And before I can think twice about it, I put my lips around him. It tastes nothing like I would expect it to, but that seems to be the pattern here. Maybe a little salty, the way it would if you licked your own finger. But not much of anything else. Peeta lets out a groan at the contact, and moves underneath me. His hand flexes in my grip, then falls still again. I don't move, because now I'm at a loss over what to do. Is this all there is to it? Am I supposed to do something else?

 

"Katniss," Peeta says, and his voice sounds more throaty than it did a minute ago. "Move it in and out of your mouth. Like regular sex." I'm sure he adds the last part to make it sound like I know what that's like, but the instructions do help. I try to nod, but quickly stop when I realize how awkward it is to do so with him in my mouth. Then I move my face down so I can get more of him in.

 

And I immediately gag, sitting back immediately and coughing. I can hear the man laughing at my inexperience. Peeta is sitting up and taking me in his arms. "Slowly," he whispers. "Go slowly." I nod, and try to regain my composure. Peeta sits with his arms around me until I'm ready. Then he's back on his back, and I try taking him in my mouth again, going slower.

 

"Wait a minute," the man stops us. I try not to glare at him. "I want her naked while she sucks you."

 

A chill runs through me. Neither of us move. I wonder if he'll make Peeta take off the last remaining pieces of cloth covering me, or if I’ll be allowed the pleasure. "Take it off," the man orders me. Well, I guess that answers that question.

 

My eyes fall to the floor as I slowly move my hands behind me, taking as long as possible to unclasp the fastenings of my bra. I silently whisper a word of thanks to Cinna for making this one a bit more complicated than usual, because it makes my act of drawing this out seem a lot more authentic. Eventually I get it, and the straps dangle loosely behind me. My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to find some sort of way to make this experience more livable. Looking at the man when I take it off is out of the question. Looking at Peeta is a bit better, but still awkward in its own right. And I can't hide in the bathroom or face against the wall, because then the patron would just get angry. I decide to angle myself partly towards Peeta, but still enough away from him that I don't feel like he's getting a direct shot. Even though I know he's going to see it eventually. There's no hiding anything at this point. Resisting the urge to cover myself, I make similar work with my underwear. Then I stand there, taking deep breaths to calm myself, feeling more vulnerable than I have ever felt in my entire life.

 

"Turn around," the man breathes. "I want to get a good look at you."

 

I screw my eyes shut and nod, then spin slowly in my spot. I can hear him take a sharp breath of air in, then give out a piercing whistle. "Not bad," he says. "Not the tits Mason has on her, but you're a pretty enough thing." He gives a slimy sort of laugh, as though pleased with himself. Or me. Or the privilege of getting to see me. "Now get back to sucking your boy off," he commands with a note of glee.

 

I nod, biting back tears, and turn back to join Peeta on the bed. Peeta is just sitting there, with a look on his face unlike any I've ever seen before. It's a mixture of hardness and shock. He tears his eyes back to me as I approach him, and I can tell he's making an effort to only look at my face, and not anywhere else on my body. "You might as well look," I want to tell him. There's no point in acting like there's any reverence in it now. Climbing onto the bed beside him, I feel him wrap his arms around me protectively, conveniently covering the most private areas of my body. He holds me as long as he dares without angering the man forcing us into this. "I think we'd better get back to it, if you're ready," he tells me in a quiet voice. I nod, not looking up.

 

But when Peeta begins to lie down, we're interrupted again. "Not like that," the man says. "Sit on the edge of the bed. Make her get on her knees, if you know what I mean." I don't even bother looking to Peeta for further instruction, and he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to give it. He just scoots to the edge of the bed, as told, and spreads his legs to make room for me. And I get down on all fours, just like this disgusting excuse for a human being wanted, and take Peeta into my mouth again.

 

The whole situation has become unbearable, which seems like an odd thing to say considering. But he seems intent on making this as humiliating for me as possible. It's as though he doesn't see either of us as human beings, but playthings to fulfill his fantasy. Which, I realize, considering how they send us into an arena every year to watching us kill ourselves for their entertainment, I guess that's exactly how he does see us. Play things for his own personal whims. He grunts and groans the whole time I move my mouth on Peeta. Especially when it becomes clear that Peeta is enjoying this more than he wants. When I first got down on the ground, he slipped his hand back into mine. But with each bob of my head, I feel him grow harder on my tongue. Eventually moans begin escaping him as well, though he cuts them off in a gargled way that makes me suspect he's embarrassed by it. Still, he slips his hand out of mine. Feeling alone, I settle it on his thigh and try not to dig my nails into it.

 

At last the man stops us. But relief is not his intent. His hand sticky with his fluid, his member bright pink and swollen in his hand, he informs us that it's now time for the act itself. So, both of us unable to look each other in the eyes, I climb back onto the bed with Peeta. I decide to leave the rest of this up to him, since he's such an expert, and lie down on my back.  

 

Peeta climbs over and sits beside me, taking a few deep breaths as he collects himself. He seems to be watching something. His blue eyes are focused on the far end of the bed, at least, and not at all on me or our situation. In fact, they seem to be watching the patron who is enforcing this little episode of hell. Peeta looks thoughtful, though. He gets a strange look in his eye, like he does when he's mulling something over, one of his plans. Then he turns his attention to me, poking his finger inside me without giving me any sort of warning or anything. It's so abrupt, so forceful, that I actually give a yelp before I can stop myself. "That hurt!" I hiss at him.

 

"Sorry," he mutters. Then he turns and faces the man again. "She isn't wet enough for this. She needs some of that stuff."

 

What stuff is he talking about? I lift my head up to see. The man has a bottle of something in his hand, but what is it? I don't recognize it.

 

"Don't be silly," the man answers. "This is mine. Make her wet yourself. She's your girl, isn't she?"

 

"She's nervous," Peeta says. "Giving her oral sex isn't going to work for her like it did me. She has a hard time getting wet when we're alone. It'll hurt her if she can't use some of that."

 

Wet? What on earth is Peeta talking about? And what will hurt me?

 

"Fine!" the man snarls. "But don't let her use too much of it. Do you know how expensive that stuff is?"

 

I feel the bed shift underneath me as Peeta moves over to take the bottle from the man. "We won't," he says, and even I can hear the annoyance in his voice. Peeta crawls back over to me, holding the bottle out with one hand. "Here," he tells me. In a quieter voice he adds, "put some of this on down there."

 

"Okay," I mutter, and sit up to do this. I pour the contents of the bottle on my hand --it’s some sort of clear liquid, though it's not water or anything else I've ever seen before. Probably some concoction you can only get here in the Capitol. I rub it around down there. Peeta, who has been mostly averting his eyes, glances down. "Not just outside," he tells me. "Put it inside as well." I stop applying the stuff and give him a disgusted look. "Trust me," he tells me. "It'll hurt even more if you don't put it there." I roll my eyes and sigh, but I follow his instructions anyway. When I'm finished, I give the bottle back to Peeta, and he even squeezes out a little and spreads it on his penis. "Just to be sure," he tells me. He hands it back over to the man, who snatches it away from him.  

 

"I guess we may as well do this, then," he says. I shrug, and lay back down on the bed, finding that same spot on the ceiling and trying not to think about how nervous I really am right now. Peeta dips his hands between my thighs, and spreads my legs apart. Then he crawls over me. "You okay?" he asks. What a dumb question. Of course I'm not okay. But just to make this as painless as it can possibly be, I nod my head, hoping he sees the truth in my eyes.

 

He doesn't do anything right away. First he spends some time finding the right balance--with his prosthetic leg, I guess it's a little difficult for him. After he decides on one that seems to work for him, he goes back to poking around down there. This time he sticks his fingers inside of me even more than he did before. It doesn't matter now how uncomfortable it makes me, because there's no avoiding it any longer. When he sticks his fingers inside me, he spreads them out a little, as though stretching. It makes me yelp because it hurts, but as soon as I do I can sense it was the wrong move to make.

 

Peeta covers beautifully, though. "Does that feel good?" He gives a laugh. "You always like it when I do that to you."

 

Obviously I don't do any such thing, but I can tell this is what the man needs to hear if he's to believe I've done this before. Only now I have to come up with something convincing to say to confirm it. Which is never an easy task for me. "I love it," I say, stumbling over the words and the man doesn't notice.

 

"Get on with it already!" the man protests. "Get to the good stuff!"

 

Peeta lets out a long, languished breath, and drops his gaze as he nods. "Okay," he agrees. He looks down at me with sad eyes. "You ready?" I don't respond. He reaches down between us and adjusts himself so that he's right at my entrance. I can even feel the tip of his penis on my skin. It's a weird, agitating kind of feeling. Even though I don't want to do this at all, it makes me wish he would push himself inside me just to make the teasing feeling to go away.

 

My wish is granted after a short respite where Peeta seems to steady himself with deep breaths. After he catches his rhythm, a determined look crosses his face. Then, slowly, slowly, he begins to push, edging his way inside of me in a very careful, measured pace. And at first it's not so bad. It's not something I'm used to, and definitely a strange feeling to have something down there, but it's more awkward and unfamiliar than what I'm used to. Which is nothing at all.

 

Then the pain hits. As the full girth of him stretches inside me, it quickly becomes too much for my body. There's an awful feeling of something pinching... and then something breaking. And on top of that, he's too big for me. I want to scream at him, shove him away from me so that this horrible pain will go away.

 

Peeta is looking down at me with a horrified expression. His mouth is hanging open, and his brow is knit tightly together. I can tell he's wondering if he should keep going or pull out of me.

I want to yell at him. This is horrible! And the longer he just sits there, the worse it feels.

 

Unfortunately, I soon realize that isn't the only reason Peeta looks so disturbed. I must have let out that scream or at least a loud yelp of pain or something to give my situation away. Because whatever I did, one thing is obvious: the man knows I'm a virgin. Or was, before this awful moment. There's a sickening laugh coming from his direction.

 

"So it is her first time!" He says in his high, piggish voice. "Ooooh ho ho, you thought you could hide it from me, but it turns out it's my lucky day, isn't it? I figured there was no way you two would be inexperienced at this point." He gives a self-satisfied little chuckle. "I guess I was wrong. That pretty little price tag Snow fixed on you two was worth it. No, don't stop!" He yells when he sees Peeta starting to pull out of me. "Things just got even hotter here. Keep going. Show her how she's going to like being deflowered!"

 

I feel sick to my stomach. Peeta, looking thoroughly defeated, just nods and begins edging himself inside me again. "Oh, don't bother going so slow," the man snaps at him. "She's going to have to learn to get used to it somehow. And I enjoy tough love."

 

By this point I can't even try holding the tears back. I feel them spill over and roll slowly down my cheeks as Peeta does what he's told. I let out a little screech when he picks up the pace--I can't help it. But as the man grunts in pleasure, I’m determined to hold my ground. So no matter how much it hurts, I do my best to remain quiet. To keep everything locked inside of me. It doesn't always work, because sometimes I can't help whimpering. But I won't let him get much more satisfaction than that.

 

It’s a long time before the pain begins to gradually ebb away. Not completely, because it's still painful and awkward to the point where I have a hard time understanding why anybody would willingly subject themselves to this. But it isn't the horrible assault it was at first. I don't know how it is for Peeta, because he won't look at me. Whatever it may be for him physically, it's clear he isn't enjoying himself. In fact, I realize he may even be crying himself. It's hard to tell in such poor lighting though.

 

From his corner, the man's grunting and moaning would be almost comical if it weren't so horrific. I privately hope for every horrible thing I can imagine happening to him. I wonder if he has ever felt a moment of pain or humiliation in his entire life. When Peeta's movements become jagged and even more unbearable, followed by him pulling out of me at last, the man echoes the actions, the way he madly rubs his hand on his penis until he spills over on his hand. While Peeta does it with minimal noise, though, the man lets out a throaty groan loud enough for anyone on the floor to hear. He lets his head fall back on the pillow cushion, grinning, and breathing heavily. His hand and lap is a mess.

 

I don't dare move. It's too uncomfortable anyways. It's a huge relief to have Peeta out of me finally, but a sharp ache remains in his place. Peeta just sits hunched over, the same milky white substance over his hand and lap as on the man's. Only he doesn't seem anywhere near as pleased about it as the patron does.

 

Eventually the man moves, reaching for a cloth and wiping himself off. He doesn't even bother to look at us while he does this. When he seems satisfied that he's gotten everything, he zips his pants back up. Then he finally bothers addressing us.

 

"Not bad," he tells us. "You two need some work to be as good as the others, but not bad for a first time." His eyes flit down to the spot between my legs, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself. But what would be the point? "Move over, girl," he tells me. "You too, boy."

 

Peeta and I just glance at each other before I sit up at last, wincing as I do so. I can feel the pain even more acutely when I move. And what's more, as I sit up, I notice the blood that's dribbled from out of me, staining the sheets we were on. I feel embarrassed, and stupidly enough, I feel bad for staining a perfectly clean sheet. I doubt that will ever come out. The man is grabbing the sheet now, and at first I think he's angry over the blemish. But he just wants Peeta and me off so he can grab it off the bed.

 

"This will earn a pretty penny out there," he mutters, not really caring if we're even listening. "Proof that I got to see Katniss Everdeen lose her virginity." He lets out a whistle. "This will make me an envied man." I think I'm going to throw up. He tucks the sheet onto the desk, then smooths out his clothes. "I'll be getting back to the party now. Make sure you lock up when you leave." And with that, he leaves us alone in the room.

 

We sit in stunned silence for a good couple of minutes. Peeta is the first one to move. "Come on," he mumbles. "We'd better get dressed." He climbs off the bed and digs around on the floor for our clothes, handing mine to me when he finds them. I take them from him, but make no move to get dressed myself for another few minutes. I can only stare blankly ahead of me, trying to register some sort of emotion. Anger, sadness, rage. Anything. But I can only find numbness.

 

Eventually, I move too, except I can only do so slowly and stiffly. I pull the underwear and dress on. It takes me a few tries, but then I get the shoes strapped on too.

 

"Let's go," Peeta says. "Effie will be waiting for us." His voice is flat. He can't bring himself to look at me. I nod, but say nothing in response, only following him as he moves for the door. First he stops, though, and gives the sheet a dirty look. Then he seizes it, balling it up in his hands and then flinging it as hard as he can into the fireplace. I watch as the flames catch on it, crackling and sizzling as they destroy the piece of fabric.

 

"Come on," Peeta says, and heads for the door.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a quiet car ride back to the train. Peeta and I haven't spoken a word to each other since we left the bedroom. Even Effie seems strangely subdued, which, now that I think back on it, makes me wonder if she knew more about our fate than she originally let on. Usually she knows everything about our agenda, but would she have known about this? Would Snow have wanted her to know?

 

We're back on the train no later than two in the morning. Only an hour past the time we were originally scheduled to depart. I'm happy to be back aboard, I guess, but right now the only thing I want is to take a shower, then crawl under the blankets in my bed and blackout forever. Which, knowing the way my nightmares hit, isn't very likely to happen.

 

Haymitch is already on board. As we walk past the dining cart, where he sits nursing a drink in one hand and holding his head in the other, Peeta and I both glance in and catch his eye. The look he gives us is a dead one, like he knows what's happened. Anger boils up in me at the thought. It's one thing for Effie to know, but Haymitch? I ball my fists, but just trudge past and head straight to my bedroom, where I immediately close and lock the door behind me. All I want to think about right now is that shower. I strip the clothes off me, kicking them into a corner, and step into the shower, punching random buttons until icy cold water blasts at me. I quickly find the setting for warm, then stand under the stream for so long, I lose track of the time. At some point, I realize the stench of the Capitol, of the man, of the sex are all still emitting from me, as if seeping from the pores of my skin itself. I find the setting for soap and dial it in as well, then program in a rinse setting. I repeat it several times before I get out.

 

After I’m dried, I find the pajamas that cover the most skin, and pull them on. Then I crawl under the sheets, wrapping them so tightly around me, it’s as though I’ve built myself into a cocoon. For some time I just stare into the darkness, my mind racing and yet unable to feel a single thing. And it’s not that I don’t try. I search inside of me for some sort of reaction to register: anger, hurt, sadness. But all I feel is numbness. Finally, I slip into a restless sleep. Though my nightmares that night are worse than they've been the whole trip--which is really saying something--Peeta doesn't come tonight.

 

Which is okay with me.

 

Even so, the night is long and fitful. I have a dream about Rue. That no matter what I do, nothing could ever avenge her death. I wake screaming, clinging desperately to the pillow in a cold sweat. Peeta still doesn't come.

 

We pull into the District 12 station close to evening the next day. Not much seems to have changed about 12 in the near month we've been gone, except for some colorful decorations set up for the Harvest Festival. They aren't normally up. I guess since 12 is home to not one but two new victors of the Hunger Games, that means we get to have such luxuries. Lucky us.

 

The night's festivities are being held at Mayor Undersee’s house. Despite being beyond exhausted, I'll be prepped for another night of fabulous entertainment. There's no telling what Cinna is going to put me in this time, though I privately hope for something a lot more simple. I'm glad the dinner is being held at the Undersees’ house, though, and not the old Justice Building where my father's memorial was held, where they took me to say my goodbyes after the reaping. I've had enough sadness for one trip.

 

We won't see our families until tonight. They're not even allowed to greet us at the train station, since that's mainly for more photos to be taken of the victor's party. One nice thing, though, is that since the dinner will be held at the Undersees’, Madge will be there, too. Since she came to say goodbye to me after the reaping, Madge and I have officially become friends. I've even spent some of the new spare time I have with her, since Gale is working in the mines and Prim has been in school. And Peeta only started talking to me again after we set off on the Victory Tour. I like Madge. Maybe seeing her will be something of a relief of the horrors I witnessed while away on the tour.

 

Once I arrive at the home, I head up the stairs and look for Madge’s room, walking past several guest bedrooms and her father's study. I stick my head into the mayor's office to say hello, but he's not there. A television is droning on, though, with images from last night's party flashing on the screen. Shots of Peeta and me, dancing, eating, kissing. It's the last thing in the world I want to see right now. In fact, just the memory of what happened last night makes me want to vomit. I'm just about to duck out of there again, when a beeping catches my attention. The television screen goes black, and the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" start playing. I should probably leave now, but I can't drag myself away. If anything, I move closer to the television.

 

A woman I don't recognize comes on screen, and reports that conditions in 8 are worsening, and a Level 3 alert has been issued. District 8 still looks like it did when I was there only a few short days ago, with banners of mine and Peeta's faces waving from the rooftops. But the square is now full of screaming, angry people with homemade masks throwing bricks while buildings burn around them. Peacekeepers shoot into the mob. Angry citizens push back.

 

This must be what President Snow calls an uprising.

 

I duck out of the mayor's study immediately, and in the nick of time, since he's coming up the stairs just as I do. Trying to mask my shock, I give him a small wave. "Looking for Madge?" he asks me.

 

"I wanted to show her my new dress," I tell him.

 

"Well, you know where to find her," he gives me a smile. A new wave of beeping suddenly comes from his office, and his face turns grey. "Excuse me," he tells me.

 

Madge is in her bedroom down the hall. “Look at you,” she says as soon as she sees me. “Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.”

 

An angry jolt runs through me at the reminder of the Capitol. It was bad enough when it was just the place you went to die. Now it’s also the place where my last remaining shred of dignity was stolen from me as well.

 

“Are you okay?” Madge is studying me hard. Perhaps she can tell from the look on my face that something has happened.

 

“Yeah,” I wave her off, not looking into her eyes. I need something to do with my hands to keep them from shaking; I absently begin fingering my mockingjay pin. “Even my pin,” I say. “Mockingjays are all the rage in the Capitol now. Are you sure you don’t want it back?”

 

“Don’t be silly,” she says as she ties her hair back with a gold ribbon. “It was a gift.”

 

“Where did you get it anyway?” I ask, even though my mind isn’t really on mockingjay pins at all. But it’s a light enough topic that prevents me from having to think too hard about anything else, so I go with it.

 

“It was my aunt’s,” she says. “But I think it’s been in the family for a long time.”

 

“It’s a funny choice, a mockingjay,” I say. “I mean, because of what happened in the rebellion. With the jabberjays backfiring on the Capitol and all.

 

Madge gets an uneasy expression as her eyes dart around the room. “But mockingjays were never a weapon,” she says. “They’re just songbirds, right?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say. But it’s not true. A mockingbird is just a songbird. A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. They hadn’t counted on the highly controlled jabberjay having the brains to adapt to the wild, to pass on its genetic code, to thrive in a new form. They hadn’t anticipated its will to live.

 

Having finished tying the bow in her hair, Madge rises from her seat and gives me a warm smile. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs,” she says. “Your guests are all waiting for you.” She reaches out to wrap her arm through mine. Immediately, I start to recoil; not because of her, but because I don’t want to be touched at all. The action doesn’t go unnoticed. For a brief moment, Madge looks genuinely hurt, but she recovers with polished grace. She doesn’t try to reach for me again, and instead leads the way out of the room. I follow her downstairs.

 

As soon as we reach the foot of the stairs, Effie swoops in on me. “Where have you been?” she shrieks, frantically pulling on me, leading me off to a room on the side. “You’re scheduled to make your entrance in ten minutes!”

 

Inside, Peeta is already waiting. His prep team circles around him, making last minute touch ups to his appearance. He glances at me when I come in, but darts his eyes away the second they meet mine and won’t look at me again. Which is fine by me, really. Because I don’t think I could hold his gaze right now even if I wanted to.

 

As soon as I’m two feet inside the room, my own prep team begins doing the same thing to me, picking at things and adjusting as they see fit. Cinna slips in behind Effie, and holds his chin in his hand as he looks me over. The prep team stops its work, and steps back to let him examine me. Cinna adjusts one or two things about my outfit, then gives one last check over. This is when he catches my eye, and immediately I know he can tell something is wrong. He raises his eyebrows. It’s a question. What’s wrong?

 

I give a slight shrug, then avert my eyes. Fortunately, this is when Effie tells us we’re supposed to make our grand entrance. Peeta and I make our way to the door, standing side by side but not touching, not even our shoulders. I do see him give a quick glance at me along with a frown, but other than that, he doesn’t acknowledge me in any way. Haymitch gives us the usual tips on how to appear to the crowd. He pauses and takes a deep breath before he reminds us to link arms. Then he turns and refuses to face us again.

 

We go out in the same waves as we did for all the dinner entrances. The prep teams, Effie, the stylists, Haymitch. We can hear the applause just on the other side of the door as everyone makes their grand entrance. In a few moments, Peeta and I will face the biggest ruckus of all. I just hope we can somehow keep up the act.

 

Just as we’re about to go out, Peeta holds his arm out for mine. I’m reluctant to take it, but I do. This is the first time we’ve touched since… since he was inside me the other night. My stomach lurches at the thought. Not because of Peeta, but because of the whole situation. He has to feel the same way, because he hasn’t looked me in the eyes since it happened. Still, when I slink my arm through his, I feel the same steadiness I always do. Once more, I’m reminded that I’m not alone.

 

“That’s our cue,” he mutters, and together we walk out to face the awaiting crowd.

 

On the other side of the doors are the usual officials found at all these ceremonies. But for once, a welcome sight greets us as well: our families. I quickly pick out my mother and Prim in the crowd, and I immediately make a move for them. Only Haymitch’s hand on my shoulder and a warning shake of his head hold me back. I quickly shrug his hand off, but I remain in place. Our reunion will have to wait for later. Prim grins at me, both relief and guilt coursing through me at once.

 

Peeta’s family is there, too. They’re dressed in their finest attire, which is noticeably better than my family’s clothes, but still nothing compared to what Peeta, me, and the rest of our ensemble are wearing. His father offers us a sad smile. His mother looks triumphant, but not necessarily proud of her son. I don’t get a very good look at his brothers before we’re gathered together for more pictures.

 

When at long last we’re done, I make my way straight over to where my mother and sister wait. The first thing I do is gather Prim up in my arms, and hold her so tight, I don’t ever want to let go. But a part of me feels conflicted about even this, like I’m corrupting her by just touching her. But the urge to protect her wins out.

 

After she lets go, it’s my mother’s turn to take me in her arms. For a long, lingering moment, I sink in to her embrace, fighting the temptation to give in and cry. But I know I can’t do that. So I quickly pull myself together and break loose. She looks hurt, but I quickly look away. I can’t stand to see it right now. Besides, someone else is waiting to greet me, someone who surprises me.  Though considering the story the Capitol has concocted about my life, it really shouldn’t. It’s Hazelle Hawthorne, who quickly gives me a hug, but to my relief, keeps it short. As we pull apart, I survey her family behind her. Rory and Vick are stoic, while Posy looks delighted by the glitz and glamour of the whole party. Only one person is missing.

 

“Gale couldn’t make it. He’s home sick,” Hazelle tells me. “He sends his regards.”

 

I’m sure he does. And something tells me he isn’t really home sick. But it’s just as well. I’m not sure how I would react to him right now anyway. I need time to sort things out before I can see him.

 

They announce the start of dinner, and everyone makes their way to the banquet hall. Of course, Peeta and I are to sit together, with our team of stylists and escorts surrounding us. Our own families sit at the opposite end of the table.

 

Naturally, Peeta and I are the main attraction throughout the meal. Press who have been invited use it as a time to ask all the juicy questions that viewers in the Capitol are dying to know.

 

“Katniss, you must be excited to try on wedding dresses. Tell us, will Cinna have a hand in creating your dress?”

 

“Oh-- yes,” I answer.

 

“Your talent is designing clothes. Do you have anything in mind for your dress already? Will you be assisting Cinna in the design of your own dress?”

 

“No,” I say, poking at my food. “I’m just going to let him surprise me.”

 

There’s a round of laughter at this question, and agreement that a bride-to-be is busy enough to not want to worry about such things.

 

“How does it feel to be engaged?” one reporter asks.

 

I don’t have to look at Peeta to feel the tension this question creates in both of us. But like usual, Peeta covers for us both, and answers with his most winning smile. “It’s all I ever hoped for.”

 

“I’ll bet.” The man gives us a lecherous smile. “You must be very excited for your wedding night, Peeta.”

 

All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room. That’s how hard that question hits me. Though my head is reeling, I can tell that it has a similar effect on Peeta by the way his lips twitch and how his shoulders briefly slouch. But both are gone in an instant, and Peeta is smiling again. With a bashful glance at me, he tells the reporter, “I really don’t think I could answer that question if I wanted to. I’m sure the Capitol can respect that it’s a private matter.”

 

There’s some laughter at this, but I nearly choke on my drink. It’s such a blatant challenge to the Capitol, and for a minute I’m genuinely afraid of what Snow will do to him. Then I remember that they’ve already done it, and what else they might do won’t matter, because by that time, hopefully we’ll have escaped off into the safety of the woods, and…

 

The woods! That’s right. In the nightmare that the last forty-eight hours have been, I had completely forgotten about my plan to disappear and take everyone I care about along with me. If I can hold out for this week, just this last week of the Harvest Festival, then I can find Gale and tell him my plan. He’ll have to agree to help me once he finds out everything.

 

The thought is enough to get me through the rest of the night, as well as the ensuing days. It isn’t until Effie corners Peeta and me on the last night of the festival that my delusion is shattered.

 

“We’ll be back again in a few short weeks to pick you up,” she tells us. “No press this time, but your style teams will be here. You must be on your best behavior.”

 

Peeta and I exchange a wary glance. “For what, Effie?” he asks.

 

She gives us a thin-lipped smile in return. “You have another engagement in the Capitol,” she explains.

 

A dead chill races down my spine as the world around me goes numb.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! First Catching Fire and then the holiday season interfered. Here's the second chapter at last!
> 
> Huge thanks to feeding_geese, allies-person, Chelzie, Deathmallow and Alexabee for ALL the help they've given me with this story so far, be it beta-ing/editing, or simply bouncing ideas off of them. Your help has made all the difference!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr! Username is shesasurvivor.


	3. Chapter 3

The first Sunday after the Harvest Festival, I’m awake and half-way across the district to the place I cross the fence before I even have time to think about what I’m doing.

Since Effie’s little announcement, I’ve barely been able to sleep. I spend most of the night tossing and turning, and wondering how on earth I’m going to get through this next one. It doesn’t seem real, what’s happening to Peeta and me. When we became victors, we were supposed to earn a life of ease! But after that trick I pulled with the berries… is it any wonder that this happened?

I don’t know. What’s more, I don’t really know how to figure it out. Every time I try to think about it, my mind wanders, refusing to go there for some reason. But it’s a good thing that everyone packed up and left immediately after the Festival was over, because I had to get out of there.

It isn’t until after I’ve reached the fence and slid underneath in my usual spot that I’m able to clear my mind a little. The further into the wild I go, the more clarity I get. The more I understand what made me come out here in the first place. I need to talk to Gale, and soon. Today, if he’ll show up. Will he? I don’t know. After weeks of being forced to watch Peeta and me on TV, ending in our supposed engagement… maybe he won’t show. But I try not to think about that possibility. He has to show up. Because we need to plan how we’re going to escape.

When I reach our usual meeting spot, I leave the leather bag full of food and the clasp full of hot tea I grabbed out of our kitchen before I left. I also leave a pair of fur-lined gloves that Cinna left behind. Then I search in the surrounding plants a bit until I find a few twigs that will work. Not too big to be obvious to the untrained eye, if one should come through here, but big enough that someone like Gale will see it and know what it means. I arrange them next to the rock we normally sit on, pointing in the direction I’ll be going. If Gale comes, he’ll know which way to go.

He has to come, I realize as I begin breaking a path through the cold, misty woods to the lake. There are things he has to know… though I already know that I can’t tell him what happened on the last night in the Capitol. But I can tell him enough. Enough that he can help me figure out what to do. How to escape. After what happened on that night at the Harvest Festival, I know it’s my only option…

When Effie told us about Snow’s latest plans for Peeta and me, I went into a state of shock that I don’t really know how to describe. The world around me seemed distant, as if I were watching everything from far away. My body felt heavy and useless, even though I was still able to command it. The only other time I’ve really felt anything like it was in the arena, after Rue died. When the only way I could do anything was by giving myself simple commands to follow. That was what it was like when I learned that we were going back to the Capitol.

Somehow, I managed to make it away from Effie and Peeta, and cornered Haymitch as he was drinking behind the tents. One look answered my question.

“You know,” I said.

Haymitch didn’t even bother to answer. He just kept drinking from that bottle.

“How long have you known?” I demanded. I was furious, but I couldn’t quite put together what was making me so angry about the situation

“Since before we left the Capitol,” he admitted. “They told me before your first appointment.”

That was why I was so angry. Haymitch had known all along, and he never bothered to warn Peeta or me about what was about to happen to us. My head was swimming with this new information, and I was still feeling fuddled from the spell that came over me when Effie explained the news, so I did the only thing I could think of. I lunged for him.

Fortunately, someone grabbed me just in time and prevented me from actually hurting Haymitch. Peeta, who had followed me both to find the same answers I was seeking and probably just to make sure I didn’t do anything like I had just done, was holding me back. “Let me go!” I snarled at him, but he ignored me.

“I won’t even bother asking why you didn’t tell us,” he said to Haymitch instead. “But why? Why are they doing this?”

“I think you know why, kid,” Haymitch said darkly.

He’s right. We never said it, but even if I didn’t want to admit it, I knew why the night it happened. And if I knew, then Peeta probably did, too.  As if we needed the reminder that he had control over every aspect of our lives. We both stand there silently wrestling with the information, before Peeta speaks again.

“So what can we do?” he asks wearily as he settles his weight against a bale of hay.

At this, Haymitch’s eyes soften. He looks almost guilty. “The only thing you can do is play along,” he says. “Snow holds too much power for you to do otherwise. You don’t want to know what will happen if you try to refuse him.”

“Don’t we?” I say. Because I think he’s wrong. I think I’m only too aware of what will happen if I try to fight this. That very same thing he warned me about when he paid me that visit right before the Victory Tour. If I fight this, then everyone I love will pay for it. This is his way of making sure there is no question in my mind that he is in control. Which means there is only one option left.

That’s why I have to talk to Gale today. We have to escape the district and slip off into the woods, and it has to happen before it’s too late. I just hope he can listen to reason, and not let anything he saw on TV mess with his opinion.

When I reach the lake, I head immediately for the one-room concrete house that was abandoned some time ago. I start a fire in the fireplace and count on the mist to obscure the telltale sign of smoke. While the fire catches, I sweep out the snow that has accumulated under the empty windows, using an old twig broom my father made for me when I was about eight and played house here. I also use some of the snow to make some tea using pine needles, melting it until it’s hot enough to drink. Then I settle down next to the fireplace while I wait for Gale to show.

It’s a surprisingly short time before he appears. He stands in the doorway as if he’s not quite sure whether he should come in or not. He holds a dead turkey he must have encountered along the way, and a bow is slung over his shoulder. In his eyes I can see the pain his temper can’t quite hide. I could take hours to explain everything to him about why we need to leave as soon as possible, and still I might lose him. And I can’t bear the thought of losing Gale. Not after everything else. So I just come out with it.

“We have to run away. Immediately.”

Gale raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t seem too phased. “Don’t you think your fiancé might have something to say about that?”

“He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And… I think he would understand. I mean- I mean, it doesn’t matter what he thinks! We just have to go!”

Gale looks unconvinced, so I cut right to the heart of my argument. “President Snow threatened to have you killed, “I say.

This seems to melt his facade a little. “Anyone else?” he asks.

“Well, he didn’t exactly give me the list. But there’s a good chance it includes both our families.”

“Unless what?” he asks.

That is a loaded question that I am not quite sure how to answer. I’m not ready to talk about what the ‘what’ actually is, and that Snow has already enforced it once, with round two only a couple weeks away. How would I even explain that, anyways? Unless I keep having sex with Peeta for other people’s entertainment? Surely it would do the trick of convincing Gale. I can just imagine how enraged he would be if he found out what they were making us do. But I’m not ready to talk about it. So instead I just say, “I don’t know.”

Maybe it’s the helpless way in which I say it, but it’s enough to bring Gale over to the fire. He sits down across from me, warming himself. “Well, thanks for the warning,” he says. He tosses Cinna’s gloves in my direction. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.”

I catch them and turn, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. Nothing about this is funny. “They’re not Peeta’s gloves. They were Cinna’s.”

“Then give them back. If I’m going to die, then at least I’ll die in comfort.”

“That’s optimistic. Of course, you don’t know everything that’s happened.”

“Let’s have it,” he says.

I should have expected this. Of course he would want to know the details, especially after a comment like that. But where do I start? What can I tell him? How much of it can I do without delving into the parts I’m not ready to share? My mind goes blank, and all I can do is stare dumbly at him while I attempt to piece things together.

Unfortunately, Gale takes my silence the wrong way. With an exasperated sigh, he turns instead to the leather bag and begins to make a meal. “So you can’t even tell me then, is that it? Because I won’t understand what you’ve been through, right? Only your fiancé could possibly understand that.” He spits out the last part, biting sarcasm dripping from every word.

“No!” I rush to try to mollify him. “That isn’t it at all. It’s just… I… “ I search desperately for something I can say that would make him feel better. But it’s hard, because the thing is, he’s right. There are things about what I’ve gone through that only Peeta can understand. But why should that mean Gale can’t be there as well?

“We have to disappear into the woods,” I say. “Just like you said the morning of the Reaping.”

Gale stops his actions and looks at me. I have his attention.

“We have to, Gale,” I continue. “It’s the only option.

Gale steps towards me. Extends his arms out. Immediately, I slink out of his touch just as he’s about to embrace me. I don’t mean to do it, I really don’t. But after what happened to me, I guess I can’t stand to be touched. But Gale doesn’t know that, and just as expected, he takes it the wrong way. Still, I can see him masking his hurt as he swallows.

“You mean it?” he asks. “You really want to go?”

It isn’t a matter of what I want so much as what I know we need to do if I’m going to save everyone I care about. Still, I nod my confirmation.

“Then we’ll go,” he says. “Though my mother is going to take some convincing.”

“Mine, too. But I’ll just have to make her see reason.” If worse comes to worse, I could always tell her what they did to me in the Capitol. Maybe I should anyways. She can probably mix some sort of concoction that can ensure nothing comes from it. Except I’m not sure I’m any more ready to talk about it with her than I am with Gale. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone, really.

“She’ll agree,” Gale says. “I watched most of the Games with her. She won’t say no.”

“I hope not. Haymitch will be the real challenge.”

“Haymitch?” Gale’s expression grows stony. “Just how big exactly is this party you’re planning?”

“I have to take him!” I insist, growing agitated myself. “If I left him or Peeta behind, they’d kill them both immediately! Or worse. They’d probably torture them, trying to find out where I was!”

“What about Peeta’s family?” Gale counters. “Do you really think they would go along with us into the woods? They probably couldn’t wait to inform on us! Which he’s probably smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay behind?”

I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.”

“You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks.

“To save Prim and my mother, yes. I mean, no! I’ll get him to come!”

“And what about me?” Gale’s voice has grown demanding now. “If, for example, I couldn’t convince my mother to bring three children into the woods in winter. Would you leave me behind?”

“That can’t be an option- “ I begin.

“It might be, Katniss.” It’s a terse answer. His voice is cold; distant.

There’s a long, pregnant moment where I desperately try to search for the right words to say to convince him to go. But it’s no use. My mind is too cloudy. I watch Gale smoldering in the glowing embers, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it would help me to get outside. Get some fresh air. It’s hot in here; I feel like choking.

“You’re leaving?” Gale asks as I turn towards the door.

“I- “ I falter, but keep pressing towards the door, trying to shake clear my head.

“Katniss.” His voice is softer now. Still I head for the door. “I have to get outside,” I mumble.

He barely touches me. It’s nothing more than a light brush of the hand. But it’s unexpected and it’s enough. I scream, turning on him, not sure whether I want to push him to the ground or cower in the corner. Maybe both, if I can manage it. By the time my minds slows and I understand what’s happening, my chest is heaving as I glower at Gale like some sort of crazed, wounded animal. And he’s looking back at me as if I were one, half ready for an attack and half hoping to soothe it. Me.

“All I did was brush your hand,” he murmurs.

I say nothing, and just glare at him a few more seconds before I grab my bow and supplies and slam the door behind me, taking off into the lifeless, grey snow.

_Appropriate_ , I think as my legs carry me anywhere to get away from here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this story has been sitting un-updated for well over a year now! I took some much needed time away from fanfic and fandom in general, and time really slipped away from me because of it. But I never intended to abandon this story! Updates should happen more frequently, though I am working full time and have gone back to school, so they will have to be whenever I can fit them in. Still, it won't be another year before you see an update. ;) In fact, there might even be one in another week...
> 
> Anyways, thank you if you're still reading this story, and I'm sorry for making you wait!


	4. Chapter 4

Effie was wrong about the press. When she arrives a few weeks later, along with Cinna, Portia, and the rest of mine and Peeta’s prep teams, they’re joined by a full camera crew.

 

“I thought Effie said there wouldn’t be any press,” I mutter as Flavius ties my hair into elaborate knots.

 

“There was a change of plans,” Cinna explains as he lays my outfit, which I can’t see from my position, out on my bed. “President Snow felt it would boost the nation’s morale to see how happy you and Peeta are after your engagement.”

 

A chill runs up my spine. “You have to keep still, if you want this to look good,” Flavius scolds me as I unintentionally jerk my head over in Cinna’s direction.  

 

“President Snow thought that?” I ask, my voice small.

 

Cinna bows his head in response, but says nothing more, instead choosing to flatten out any perceived wrinkles in the fabric of whatever I’ll be wearing. But he doesn’t need to say anything more, because enough has been implied. If President Snow thinks the nation needs to see me and Peeta, then there must be some reason for it. Something more than just wanting to see the Star-crossed Lovers living happily ever after. The question is, what is it?

 

The thought eats away at me throughout the rest of my prep. Then I’m hurried out the door in a repeat of the start of the Victory Tour, and Peeta and I are shuffled quickly onto the train before anything else can happen.

 

This time, however, things seem to be different. The trains have always been furnished in fancy Capitol decorations, but now they seem to have gone all out. The decorations have been replaced with even more high end designs. It’s hard to believe it, but the food seems even richer than the last few times. And everywhere we turn, there are the camera crews, capturing our every move as we enjoy them.

 

“Is this really necessary?” Peeta asks with forced politeness as one camera zooms in on him taking a bite of an orange.

 

“Oh, yes!” the director responds. “We have strict orders from President Snow himself! Capture every intimate moment!”

 

Peeta and I briefly catch each other’s eye before I dart mine away.

 

That night, the nightmares return in full force. I wake screaming after only a few short hours. For a moment, I’m disoriented, and can only wonder why there are no arms wrapped around me like there normally are when I have nightmares on the train. Then I remember that Peeta has kept a safe distance from me ever since that night back in the Capitol. My eyes fall on the door, and for a brief instant, I consider going out to find him myself. Something even makes me think that he may already be on the other side of the door. I hold my breath, half expecting it to open. It doesn’t.

 

I’ll have to find some sort of way to deal with this on my own.

  
  
  


When the train pulls into the station, there’s as much fanfare as there ever was over our arrival. Camera crews sit waiting in a long line up and down the platform, each having staked out the best position they could find. I recognize the ones closest to us, and with the best vantage point, as the show that always gets all the best interviews whenever the Games are on TV. They’re also the station that seems to get the best information from President Snow. Even though all the channels in the Capitol are required to air the Games and Snow’s addresses, he still seems to favor this one by offering them exclusives. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me to see them in the middle now.

 

Effie has Peeta and me pressed together, and is running down some last minute instructions for greeting the press. And just like usual, our outfits compliment each other perfectly. Cinna has me wearing an airy, golden jumpsuit. It’s more casual than the usual dresses he has me in, which had me curious until Effie explained that we would be taken on a whirlwind tour of the Capitol, where Peeta and I will be photographed and filmed at some of the city’s most famous landmarks. Of course, we’re expected to look as in love as ever, especially since we’re promised to visit some of the romantic places in the city.

 

After Effie is finished with her run down, the doors open, and Peeta and I take the stage once more. Next to me, he extends an arm for me to take, but doesn’t look at me. I hesitate, before wrapping my own through his. This is the first time we’ve touched since that night. I know he senses it too, because at my touch, he casts an odd glance in my direction and fights back the slightest of flinches. But he recovers as quickly as ever, and his old composure is back. “Ready?” he asks.

 

“As much as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, and together we step out and greet the crowd that waits for us.

 

A loud cheer goes up at the first sight of us. Immediately, cameras start flashing from every direction. It’s so much that I have to fight the urge to cover my eyes. Now that we’re out here, this seems like more than we’ve ever had before. But why? Why would this time be any different from every other time?

 

It’s at least another twenty minutes before we’re finally able to leave. By now, we’ve been captured from every position imaginable. But the peacekeepers and other officials let them know it’s time to pack it up, and eventually we’re allowed to leave.

 

Just like all the times before, we crowd into a car with darkened windows, so passersby on the street won’t know that we’re in there. Only this time, we’re not heading towards the Tribute Center like we did last time we were here for the Victory Tour. This time, it turns in a completely different direction.

 

“Aren’t we staying at the Tribute Center this time?” I can’t help asking.

 

“We’ll be heading there later,” Effie explains. “First on the itinerary is a little bit of sightseeing.”

 

I exchange a glance with Peeta. This is news to us both. Not that anyone has really explained what’s going to happen on this trip to us. But it’s safe to say that sightseeing was not on the list of what I expected. I guess I thought we’d be taken straight into whatever horror Snow has planned next for us.

 

“Didn’t Katniss and I get plenty of sightseeing in last time we were here, Effie?” Peeta asks. I don’t think I’m imagining the faint tone of bitterness in his voice. He’s right, though. When we were here for the Victory Tour, we were taken to every noteworthy destination in the city. What would be the point in doing so again?

 

In fact, the day turns out to be an exact repeat of our trip before. We visit all the same places, pose in all the same ways. Only this time, more of the press seems to be following us. Obviously, there’s been some kind of order to get more of us together on screen. Is Snow trying to pacify the districts with this?

 

But by late afternoon, our tour of the city comes to a close, and we’re whisked back to the Tribute Center. Here, my style team gets me ready for what’s supposed to be the party of the month.

 

“It’s a gala being held for sponsors of the Hunger Games,” Cinna explains as I dress. “Anyone who’s anyone will be there.”

 

“Lucky us,” I mutter. Because I’d place spending time with the sponsors right under having lunch with President Snow on my list of things I never want to do.

 

“Remember, these are the same sponsors you’ll be working with as mentors for the Games. You’ll want to leave a good impression with them tonight. The more they like you, the easier it will be to convince them to spend money on your tributes.” Effie gives a rather pointed look at Haymitch.

 

Just like with our engagement party, the gala is being held at President Snow’s mansion. It’s done up as fabulously as ever, only this time, the focus isn’t entirely on us. We do still make something of a splash when we enter, though. As we make our way through the crowd, all heads turn towards us. Hands reach out to touch us. Eyes are glued on us.

 

It’s awful. I can feel myself trembling already. It was bad enough when I knew that, distantly, they all wanted to watch me die. But now, all I can see in each and every one of them is the face of a potential client. Which of them want me? Want us? Enough to pay for it? It might as well be everyone in this room, though surely that can’t be true. Can it?

 

Despite how awful our last few experiences have been, I’m still grateful I have Peeta beside me now. Even though I know he must be feeling as apprehensive about this party as I do, he’s much better about hiding it. He doesn’t flinch each time a strange hand lands on him the way I do. He manages something of a pleasant smile whenever someone calls his name in greeting. I don’t know how he does it, but I’m glad he does. Because without him, I would be completely lost right now. If I had to do this by myself, I would be completely eaten alive.

 

At last, we’re led across the way to a more private part of the mansion, where a small group is gathered. Some of them I recognize, either from having met them in person or from seeing them on TV during past Games and other official Capitol functions. Plutarch Heavensbee is among them. No surprise. So is Finnick Odair, which is more of a surprise, but not by much.

 

Finnick Odair is another victor, just like Peeta and me. He won his Games about ten years ago when he was only fourteen years old. He was always the favorite contender to win his Games, and it’s no surprise he’s still hanging around the Capitol now. Strong, with bronze hair and sea green eyes, Finnick is something of a playboy, always going through several lovers every year when he returns for the Games.

 

His eyes land on us immediately, and he slinks his way over with Plutarch Heavensbee at his side. Yay. Just who I want to deal with right now. The two of them.

 

“Katniss!” Plutarch calls out, “Peeta! So wonderful to see you both again.” He claps a hand on Peeta’s shoulder, grinning broadly. “I have someone here who you might want to meet. Though I imagine you probably know who he is already,” he chuckles. “Allow me to introduce you to Finnick Odair, victor of the 65th Hunger Games.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Finnick,” Peeta nods in his direction, while extending a hand. Finnick Odair accepts.

 

“You as well, Peeta Mellark,” he purrs back. “I’ve heard… so many things.”

 

It’s an odd comment to make. Peeta must think so as well, because we exchange a brief glance before he gives another, more uneasy smile in return. “Likewise,” he says.

 

“And you, Katniss,” Finnick continues, turning his attention towards me. “Leaving the little girl looks behind, I see. Dressing to fit your more… adult role these days?

 

“Something like that.” I don’t like the way Finnick is looking at me. Or whatever it is he seems to be implying. Adult role? Does he know about what they’ve done to Peeta and me? He’s pretty close to higher ups here in the Capitol it seems, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. After all, Plutarch Heavensbee, of all people, is the one who introduced us. And surely Plutarch must know, being the Head Gamemaker and all. That’s a role coveted by most people here in the Capitol. He works pretty closely to President Snow. And I don’t like the way Finnick is hanging around him. I know that as mentors, we’re all expected to get along with the gamemakers or else there will be ramifications. But the way Finnick Odair and Plutarch Heavensbee act around each other suggests they’re more comfortable than someone like Haymitch would be around them. I can’t imagine Haymitch working too closely with someone like Plutarch.

 

And what’s all this about my adult role? Why would Finnick even be interested? Even now, he looks Peeta and I both over with a scrutinizing look. Peeta must sense it too, because I can see his body stiffen next to me. Move just casually enough in front of me so that he’s protecting me, but not enough to be obvious about it. Then he gives Finnick one of his easy grins, so that anyone would think he was merely being friendly.

 

“Ah, back off now, Finnick,” he says in a lighthearted manner. “Remember, she’s spoken for.”

 

At this, Finnick’s eyes dart off somewhere just beyond us. Surprisingly, his whole demeanor becomes more serious. “I’m afraid that’s true,” he says, eyes still trained on whatever spot behind us he’s watching. “Watch out for her, Peeta. And yourself.” And just as quickly, his playboy nature is back, giving us both a smirk before he excuses himself and walks away.

 

“That was… weird,” Peeta says.

 

“Tell me about it,” I respond. “What was he getting at about my new adult role?”

 

Peeta glances over at me with a troubled look. Bites his lip like he’s debating whether or not to tell me something. But nothing comes out.

 

“What?” I ask.

 

“It’s… just…” he falters. “The way he was looking at you… at both of us… Do you think victors are allowed to buy other victors?

 

The thought knocks me for a loop. Could that really be what Finnick was going for? “Why would you think that?” I bark back a little too coldly at Peeta.

 

He sighs. “You know we’re not just here for the party,” he says. That’s true. It’s painfully obvious why President Snow decided to bring us both here. And it’s not about winning over more sponsors, or connecting with the elite here in the Capitol. There’s only one reason we’re here. Angrily, I turn on my heels and take off across the room. I’m not even sure where I’m going, but Peeta follows anyway.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

 

I don’t answer.

 

“Katniss?”

 

He lets out a sigh. “Look, Katniss- “

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snap back at him.

 

Peeta tenses. Now angry, he grabs my arm. Not in any way that hurts me, of course, but it’s still firm enough to grab my attention and make me stop in my tracks. I’m so startled by his action, that I forget my anger and look straight into his eyes. He stands there for a minute, like he’s trying to decide the best thing to say. Which is weird, since Peeta’s normally so good with his words.

 

“Look, Katniss,” he says again pointedly, through gritted teeth. “You aren’t the only one they’re doing this to, remember? This is happening to both of us.”

 

It’s not much, and yet it says everything. As he stands there staring at me, waiting for my response, he’s still angry. But now I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since that horrible night, and I can see how destroyed Peeta is, too. He’s right. I shift my weight, trying to think of something to say, but I don’t get the chance to think of anything because right then, Haymitch walks up, with Effie only a short distance behind us.

 

“Get ready, you two,” he mutters darkly to us. “Snow’s signed you up for a repeat performance.”

 

Effie catches up just as he finishes saying it. “There you two are!” she says, putting her hands on both of our shoulders. It’s all I can do not to flinch and pull away. “We have another busy night ahead of us!” She chatters on as she leads us away, telling us about our entire agenda for the evening. It’s when she mentions the very special engagement reserved for us that Peeta and I exchange a knowing glance. I wonder if I can get my hands on any spirits tonight, to try to make the night slightly more bearable. Then I falter as the room spins, and I lose my footing.

 

“Oh, Katniss!” Effie exclaims as I go down, but it’s Peeta who catches me. As I regain my balance, he offers me his arm to hook my own through, so I can use him for balance. It takes me a moment to accept, since I’m still not comfortable with anyone touching me just yet. But his previous words race through my mind, and I find myself lacing my arm through his. And maybe it’s odd, but as soon as I do, I feel somewhat relieved. Because even now, Peeta is warm and steady, and just like the morning of the Victory Tour, I’m reminded that he won’t let me go through this alone. And maybe it’s wrong to feel this way, but if this has to happen, then I’m glad he’s here to go through it with me.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to feeding-geese and chelziebelle for all their help in writing this.
> 
> And thank you to you, dear reader, for your continued support despite my long absence in updating. I'm sorry I don't always respond to your comments when I receive them, but please know I read all of them and they all mean a lot to me, even if I can't get to answering them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, an update!

I lie on the bed with my eyes clenched closed, trying to ignore the sticky substance leaking out of me. I feel Peeta moving above me, moving off of me, away from me. I don’t know what he’s doing; I can’t convince myself to open my eyes yet to find out. I prefer it here in my dark world, where at least I can pretend I didn’t have to go through what I just went through, even if it’s just for a few blissful seconds. Before the sickening voice of our patron brings me back to the dark reality.

“Very nice,” she says, as though she were observing some sort of performance. Which, I guess, in a way, she was. This woman didn’t join in, just as the first man hadn’t. She only sat there and watched us. It shouldn’t surprise me that the Capitol is full of voyeurs. Not when watching us fight to the death is the highest form of entertainment for them.

“I paid through Snow’s people earlier,” she tells us. I hear her stand up, and walk across the room. She hadn’t participated in her own way, either, like the man had. She remained fully clothed the entire time. I can’t imagine what her motivation was here, in just watching us go at it. But at least she wasn’t as nasty as the man had been.

Finally, I risk opening my eyes. Peeta still stands before me on the bed, start naked and limp as he watches her. I wonder how he manages to do that, to stand so freely in front of someone who has no business seeing him in such a state. It reminds me that I, too, am fully exposed. It’s this thought that makes me sit up at last, if only to attempt to cover myself, even if there’s no real point to it by now.

The lady is standing there, next to the doorway exiting her small apartment. She watches us pointedly, one hand stretched out, resting on the doorknob. She wants us to get dressed and leave. I have no problem with that plan. I move off the bed, expecting to feel as sore as I did the last time we did this, but to my surprise, I feel almost normal. I do feel a bit sore, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was then. I find my clothes, and dress quickly.

When I’m done, I finally manage to look directly at Peeta, who is just finishing buttoning up his shirt. He looks back at me. “You might want to smooth your hair,” he mutters, glancing up at the top of my head, where I realize my hair is probably completely ruffled. For a second, I feel bad for my prep team, knowing their hard work has been ruined.

When we’re ready, Peeta offers a hand out to me, and I take it. Together, we walk through the door without even another word to the lady. What a strange experience. Not that any of this is normal.

At the sound of the door closing behind us, Peeta gently drops my hand. I glance over at him, a little surprised at this action. He’s just staring straight ahead, a hardness in his eyes. We walk silently to the end of the hall, until we reach the elevator. We step on, and Peeta hits the button taking us back to the main floor, back to the party. As we step off, I stop in my tracks. Peeta, a few steps ahead of me, feels my hesitance and turns back to face me, a questioning look on his face.

“I want to go to the bathroom,” I tell him. “I have to freshen up.” I can’t live with this residue between my legs. Really, I would prefer to take a shower, but even if there were one available for guests, the last thing I want to do is get undressed again inside this place. The idea that Snow is lurking around here, freely, and that this is where he lives, would haunt me for the entire shower.

Peeta nods, and leads me to where we remember the rest rooms being from when we were here on the Victory Tour. He waits for me outside while I go in. He doesn’t have to, and I’m sort of tempted to question it, but I don’t. The truth is, I do feel safer with him standing outside on guard.

Inside, groups of women standing around talking. Their garish costumes make me sick. In their hands, I see some of them holding those same glasses of clear liquid that make you sick that my prep team introduce Peeta and me to during our engagement party at the end of the Victory Tour. That very same party where this whole new nightmare began. As I make my way to the stalls, I can hear the sounds of vomiting coming from behind a few of the closed doors. I try to ignore it, mostly because it’s exactly what I want to do right now.

Actually, it’s not a bad idea.

Once I’m secured inside a stall of my own, the lock securely latched, I tear off my clothes and, grabbing some wipes, furious beginning scrubbing at myself down there. The remnants of Peeta’s orgasm are half dry by this point. I’m desperate to get the reminder of what happened off me, and with tears filling my eyes, I wet the wipe with my own spit and scrub even harder. It’s not really necessary to scrub this hard even, it’s coming off pretty easily, but for some reason I can’t help pressing so hard that my skin turns pink. Finally, the pain becomes too much and I stop. Then I crumple beside the toilet and let the tears come.

I want to begin sobbing. More than anything in the world, I want to let out everything inside of me until I pass out, and can escape this horrible night. At least until the nightmares come. But I’m still with it enough to know I can’t do that. I shouldn’t do that. Because if I make it too obvious I’m crying, the other women in this bathroom will hear me, and then they’ll ask what’s going on. When they find out it’s me… well, it’ll be a media nightmare I don’t want to deal with. And I can only imagine what President Snow would do with that, how angry he would be that I’m blowing my cover. Or maybe it’d be the opposite. Maybe he’d be happy he could show to the entire nation he’s broken me. Just the thought of that alone is enough to make me pull myself back together, to keep my tears quiet enough that no one else in here detects what’s going on underneath their own nose.

But the emotions are overwhelming, and finally I give in. Hunching over the toilet, I wretch out everything I’ve eaten in the last twelve hours. Over and over I hurl. It’s satisfying in a way, that I can do this. At least no one will come knocking, asking questions they’re better off not asking.

I don’t know how long I’m in there like this. After a long, long, long time, I remember Peeta is waiting for me. I wipe my mouth off and flush the toilet, cleaning myself up the best I can, then push out of the bathroom stall. I’m care not to make eye contact with anyone else, and I’m grateful when I manage to escape unnoticed.

Back outside, I see that I’m right about Peeta. There’s panic in his blue eyes as they lock onto mine. He begins to move to me, then stops in his tracks with a lurch. “Are you okay?” He asks. It’s a stupid question, because of course I’m not okay, and I can see by the look in his eyes even as he’s asking that he realizes this as well.

“Let’s just get back,” I mutter, and push past him to the hall that leads back to the main dancefloor.

The rest of the night is uneventful. We stay until well past midnight, then Effie whisks us away back to the training center. I practically collapse into my bed, and pray for the escape of oblivion.

By the time the next morning comes around, I’m not much more rested than I was the night before. Just as I suspected, nightmares kept me awake half the night, of the arena, of prying eyes watching me in places where they don’t belong. Feeling groggy, I wonder if we’re starting back home today.

Unfortunately, the nightmare continues. “We leave tomorrow,” Effie informs us at breakfast. “You have the day free to do whatever you would like, but be back here by five. We have another engagement to attend tonight.” My eyes find Peeta’s, and I see he’s thinking the same thing that I am: we’re already signed up for another round of this hell.

Other than Effie, no one talks during breakfast. Haymitch looks as though his night were almost as bad as ours. He’s clearly drunk. Whether he started drinking again as soon as he woke up, or just never stopped drinking from last night, I’m not sure. I realize, for the first time, that I’m jealous. Jealous that he at least has this escape. What do I have to alleviate this nightmare? Nothing. I wonder if he would considering sparing a drink. I’ve only tried alcohol one other time, that time before the Games on the night of the tribute parade. I didn’t like the way it made me feel then. Now I think I would welcome it.

Everyone dwindles out of the room one by one. I’ve barely touched my own breakfast, but after pushing it around on my plate for a good forty-five minutes, I finally give up and head back to my room. The first thing I do is take a shower. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I didn’t take one last night, but I guess I was in such a state after everything that all I wanted was to crawl under the covers and hide from the world. Now, though, I punch in settings; as the steam from the warm water engulfes me, I finally let my body relax somewhat. I stay in there as long as I can handle it, then change into the most simple clothes I can find, and lie down on the bed.

Given that we’re supposed to have the day to ourselves, I’m surprised when I hear the knock on my door. Maybe it’s Effie, come with further instructions for tonight, or Haymitch with… who knows what. But somehow I doubt it’s either one of them.

I’m right. When the door opens, I see exactly who I expect to see standing there: Peeta. I raise my eyebrows as him in question, but don’t say anything.

“I think we should get out for a little bit,” he says.

“What?” It’s not what I was expecting, though I really wasn’t expecting much of anything.

He nods. “It would be good for us.”

I don’t really know what to say. Escaping this building, if even for a little bit, and getting some fresh air in my lungs would do me a world of good. “You mean to the roof?” I ask him.

“No,” he says. “Out exploring.”

“Can we even do that?” We’re not captives here like we were for the Games, at least not as far as I know. But I also don’t believe for a minute that Snow would allow us the freedom to roam the Capitol streets by ourselves. Not considering how valuable we are. Not when we’re at risk for causing so much trouble.

Peeta shrugs. “We can ask, can’t we?”

Effie is surprisingly open to the idea. “We can just arrange the proper escort to accompany you,” she tells us. “I’d go with you myself, but I have other things I must attend to.”

An hour later, Peeta and I find ourselves out among the Capitol citizens. A group of security officers trail us, careful to blend in with the crowd so as not to draw attention. It’s not total freedom, but it’s better than nothing. It’s certainly better than dragging Effie everywhere with us.

“Where would you like to go first?” Peeta asks me.

I just shrug. “Nowhere in particular,” I tell him. I can’t think of a single thing in this place I would want to subject myself to right now.

“Me neither,” he admits. He chances a discreet glance over his shoulder, assessing the location of our guards. Then, in a lower voice, he adds, “I just really needed to get out of there.”

That makes two of us. I’d be happy never to return, and I know Peeta would be as well, but it’s far too dangerous to make that escape now. There’s too much at stake; too many people would be left behind who would be made to pay for our running. I know it’s better to wait until after we get home, when the time is right and we can take everyone with us and disappear into the woods. But maybe with this precious time away from everything, I can at least think things through a little more. Work on a plan.

The streets of the Capitol are full of so many strange things, so many shops the likes of which we would never see back home in District 12. We wander in and out of a few of them, taking the unique wonders that they offer, but not really paying too close attention. I’m a little preoccupied with our situation to really care that much. But Peeta seems to enjoy a few things. He picks up a couple of items that pique his interest, studying them closely. I watch him as he examines them. When he seems particularly enthralled in a piece of art, he gets a look on his face that suggests there’s another world tucked away inside of him completely.

As we’re exiting one shop, he comes up next to me, leaning closely so he’s only a few inches away from my ear. It makes me want to pull away, because being touched still makes me feel uncomfortable. But there’s an urgency in his demeanor, and I can tell he wants to tell me something he doesn’t want the guards to hear. So I force myself to stay where I am.

“Think we can lose them?” he mutters.

I look at him, shocked. Peeta has already proven by now that he’s not as complicit as I previously thought. But this is more than even I would have dared to try. To lose our guards? It seems unthinkable.

“How?” I hiss back at him. I force myself to stare straight ahead, not daring to look back at them in case they figure out that we’re discussing them. And if they can tell we’re discussing them, it probably wouldn’t be too hard for them to figure out what it is we’re discussing. Which is exactly why this is so risky.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But keep your eyes open for any opportunity.”

As it turns out, a very easy opportunity presents itself shortly after. All down one street, a farmer’s market takes up the entire block. It’s hard to imagine that these people would actually consider growing their own food. But it turns out they’re not so much selling the vegetables and fruits that one might see on market day back in 12, or even the berries and things that Gale and I might trade in the hob. They’re selling produce I don’t even recognize. Brightly colored things, as unnatural and bright as the city is itself.

“What is this?” Peeta asks a vendor as we wander by. The vendor offers up a name I know I’ve never heard before. But I think he must recognize us - how could he not, when our faces have been plastered all over the Capitol and on TV since last summer - because he offers up an explanation. They’re genetically modified, like the muttations created in the Capitol labs. Evidently this is what the people in the Capitol grow for fun. Since running out of food is never a fear for them.

But I’m glad right now that they do. Because the crowd this place attracts is perfect for getting lost in. Peeta and I weave our way in and out of crowds and standings, carefully maneuvering our way through, trying our best to discreetly gauge our entourage as we do. They’re there still, following us, but I can tell they’re having a hard time keeping up. I barely have time wonder if they’re on to our game, when Peeta roughly grabs my hand, and pulls me abruptly around a corner.

We press as tight as we can against the wall, ducking down a little so we can’t be seen over the crowd. After a minute, we see the guards pass by. They’re still looking ahead of them, trying to find Peeta and me in the crowd. So they didn’t see us duck down this hallway. Good.

We give it another moment, just to be sure, and then we both let out a sigh of relief. “Come on,” Peeta says to me. Our hands are still entwined, so he pulls on me, leading me down the side street that has become our refuge.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Peeta lets out a short laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before either, remember?”

Of course. It was a dumb question. “I just meant in general,” I say, trying to cover. He just smiles. Something tells me he didn’t quite buy it.

We’re silent for a while. Down the street a little ways, we come upon a gateway that gives access to a garden. It doesn’t seem to be attached to any of the buildings around, and there is no door or gate barring access, but there also isn’t anyone in here.

“Can we just go in?” I ask. Then, before he can say it, “I don’t expect you to know that answer.”

Peeta just laughs.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, and there are no signs saying otherwise, so I can only assume it’s okay for the public to enter. I go in first, and Peeta follows. The garden is beautiful. It reminds me a lot of the one on the rooftop of the training center. Only this one doesn’t have a forcefield surrounding it, preventing desperate tributes from ending things on their own terms.

Neither of us say anything for a while as we take it in. This garden is peaceful, almost like the bustling city isn’t all around us. It’s the first time I’ve been in the Capitol where I’ve ever felt anything close to resembling the freedom I only feel when I’m in my woods back home.

It’s this thought, and the feeling of freedom from prying ears, that makes me bring it up. “Peeta, if I asked you to run away with me, would you?” I blurt out.

Peeta is caught off guard. He turns to look at me, surprised etched in his features as he studies me, trying to suss out if I’m being serious or not. Of course I’m being serious, I want to tell him. There’s no way I could joke about something like this.

“Just you and me?” He asks at last. “No. Of course not. Who else?”

“My family. Yours, if you can get them to come with us. Haymitch.”

He’s still watching me closely. “What about Gale?”

I think back to our last encounter. How angry he got with me for wanting to bring Haymitch and Peeta along with us to the woods. The way I freaked out on him at the mere touch of his hand. I didn’t mean to, but after being sold and basically raped on the Victory Tour, even the brush of his hand was more than I could handle. “I’m not sure,” I admit.

Peeta gives me a rueful smile. “I bet.”

“What about you?” I prod. “Will you go?”

Peeta looks nervous, and glances around us. I know he’s looking for anyone who might overhear this conversation. The garden gives the illusion that we’re alone, but really, he’s right. You never know when a pair of ears might overhear what we’re saying, and report it back to Snow.

“You know that’s illegal,” he says pointedly.

“You’re right,” I say loudly. “I guess I was just imagining what it might be like.”

“Dangerous,” he says just as loudly back. “You know we’re safest inside 12’s fence.”

I drop my voice so it’s only slightly above a whisper. Anyone listening in would have to strain to catch what I’m about to say. “I’m serious, Peeta,” I tell him. “We have to get away. Fast. As soon as we get back to 12.”

Peeta’s face looks pained. “I know,” he admits.

“You do?” I ask, feeling surprised. That was an easier sell than I was expecting. Though Peeta has actually seen the things I’ve seen, has been through what I’m going through. So maybe it’s not all that much of a surprise at all.

His face grows dark, and his eyes harden. “Do you think I like being forced to do those things to you, Katniss?” he asks gruffly, staring me down. “Do you think I want to violate you like that? Because I hate it!”

I’m startled by the intensity of his conviction. I’ll admit, I never really gave much thought to how he was feeling about it. But why wouldn’t he feel this way? I know he’s been as forced into this as much as I have.

“I’d leave all this behind in a second, if I could,” he continues. The fire has gone out of him now, his shoulders slumping as he leans against a highrise garden bed. “Sure, Katniss. I’ll go.”

“You will?” I’m nearly overcome with relief. So now that’s Peeta and my family. Haymitch will be a harder sell, but if Peeta agrees with me, then maybe he can get Haymitch to see reason. I don’t know if Peeta’s family will agree to this, though. I know it’s a horrible thought, but I’d actually be fine with this. I can’t imagine being trapped in the woods with Peeta’s witch of a mother. I just wanted to bring them along for his sake, because despite everything, I know he loves them. But I’d be just as fine without them.

So that just leaves Gale. And I really don’t know if he can be convinced to go, or if he’d want to talk his family into going. Maybe I can talk to Hazelle, convince her to help him listen to reason.

“Sure I will,” Peeta says after a minute. “But I don’t think for a minute you will.”

This makes me angry for some reason. “Then you don’t know me! As soon as we get back, be ready. It could be at any time!” I turn on my heel and begin to stomp away.

“Where are you going?” Peeta calls after me. I don’t stop or answer. “Katniss! Wait!” I can hear an urgency in his voice that makes me give pause. I hear his footsteps behind me as he catches up. “I really will go, if you want me to. But I don’t think you should go back out there yet,” he tells me, motioning back outside the garden, to the streets of the Capitol

“Why not?” I snap back, crossly.

“Because it’s not safe. Not by yourself, at least,” he says. “The guards are going to be mad when we go back. How do you plan to explain to them where we’ve been?”

“I’ll just say I got lost!”

“Katniss,” he says, giving me a look. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“I am not!” I practically shout back at him. I don’t even care by this point that anyone could hear us, and find us here arguing over how we’re going to cover for our disappearance.

Peeta’s thinking the same thing, because I see his eyes dart around, surveying the place, before he answers. “I’m not trying to upset you,” he says calmly, clearly trying to mollify me. “But… well, remember when I helped you cover for knowing the avox girl? Or when you tried telling me you weren’t planning on going to the feast at the cornucopia during the Games?”

“Remember when I told you it was sugar berries you were eating, and you believed me?” I counter. I see recognition flash in his eyes, and feel triumphant. He had been asleep when I lorded over him that I had lied to his face and he fell for it, but I still know the truth, and he knew it then, too, just like he does now.

“I just think it’ll look better if we find our way back together,” he says, changing tactics. “Besides… the Capitol is a big place, and we don’t know it very well. We very well could get lost.”

He’s right. I hate to admit it, but I know he is. But I don’t want to tell him this, so I just hold my glare in silence for as long as I can manage it.

“So tell me more about this plan of yours,” he says casually, turning to examine a nearby flower. He’s just trying to get me talking again, that much is obvious. But since I don’t really have any better options, and honestly, I’m too tired to stay angry anyways, I go ahead and answer.

“Just that,” I say, lowering my voice again. “We wait until things have quieted a little, then take our families one night and slip into the woods.”

“And then what?” he asks. He looks genuinely curious, and I have to remind myself that Peeta isn’t used to the woods the way that Gale or I am.

“We make a new life for ourselves,” I say. “One where we’re safe.”

Peeta looks troubled. But if something is bothering him about this idea, he doesn’t voice it. “Okay,” he says simply.

“Okay?” It’s not terribly convincing.

He shrugs. “If you think it will work.”

“It has to!” I tell him. “It has to, because…“ Because I have no other plan to fall back on. And I can’t do nothing. Not when so much is at stake.

He’s silent for a long while. I watch him as he turns over in his mind whatever it is he’s thinking about. I see that look again, that one that hints at what’s really going on behind those blue eyes of his. When he finally speaks, he sounds completely unsure. “Are you sure you really want me to go?”

The question catches me so off guard, I have to take a step to steady myself. Not go? “Of-- of course. Peeta, this is serious!”

“I know it is,” he agrees, nodding. “And maybe it would be safer for you if- if I didn’t go.”

“What would make you think that?” I ask, feeling a little annoyed. Really, this is no time to be noble. If he stayed behind while I left, then once they realized I was gone, they’d torture him to get information on where I had gone. They might even kill him. No, it would not make things easier if Peeta stayed behind. Not in the least.

“I’d just slow you down with my leg,” he tells me. “You know I’m not very fast. Or quiet. Besides, you’re way more cut out for living in the woods than I am.”

I guess he has a point. But I don’t want to admit it, especially not to him. It might vindicate his thoughts to himself, and then what would I do? How could I convince him that he’s still wrong, that he has to go regardless? Because I can’t leave him behind. It simply isn’t an option.

“Maybe it’s time we get back,” I mutter gruffly instead.

Peeta looks surprised. “You still want to go? We just got here.”

“It’ll be bad when we get back. Since we ran away and all,” I counter.

Peeta just studies me for a minute. Then he lets out a long sigh. “Alright, Katniss. I’ll go,” he relents. Immediately I’m flooded with relief. “But let’s just forget about it for now, okay?” He continues. “Let’s just enjoy this time we have now.”

“Okay,” I agree. And now that I know I’ve gotten him to agree to go with me into the woods, I find it much easier to do so. We actually manage to steal three hours for ourselves, relaxing in our hidden garden, then we stroll through the streets, exploring the strange shops the Capitol has to offer. I’m in such high spirits by the time the guards finally catch up to us, that not even their anger brings me down. Neither does the fact that I know what waits for us tonight.

Or at least it doesn’t until we get back to the Training Center, and find out that Peeta is being sent out on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooooo everyone! I can't believe it took me another year to update this fic! I'm sorry! RL is always so crazy busy for me nowadays. I look back on what's happened since I last updated this fic, and I honestly can't believe how much has happened since then! Including the final movie in the franchise! NO! Well, we'll just have to keep it alive through fic, won't we? ;) I'm making some serious attempts to write and update more, but you know me. I don't want to make promises I can't keep for the umpteenth time. I know and appreciate how many people look forward to this fic updating though, so for those of you who have stuck around, thank you! Feel free to hold me accountable for future updates. ;)
> 
> Thank you, as always, to my bff feeding_geese/bigbigbigday006 for helping me with this!
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! Username is shesasurvivor.


	6. Chapter 6

A sickly chill shoots through my body, starting from my heart, and ending in a queasy pool in my stomach. The room spins, and for a split second I’m afraid I might fall over. But I can’t do that; somehow, I know I need to keep myself together right now.

“What do you mean, ‘by himself?’” I spit out at Effie. She blinks at me, clearly irked by my outburst, which I’m sure she feels was the height of rudeness. But I really don’t care right now. How could I, at a time like this?

“Yes,” she says evenly, maintaining her composure, though I can tell she’s just itching to correct me on my behavior. “Ms. Pomeline Vipointe. She requested for Peeta to visit her on his own tonight.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, something clicks. I know this name, somehow, in some way, though I can’t remember how. I can feel Peeta looking at me. Looking past Effie, his blue eyes lock with mine. He recognizes the name, too. But from where 

“We… just visited her last night,’ Peeta says slowly.

Of course. That’s why I know the name--she was the woman who forced us together last night!

“Yes,” Effie says in a voice so sweet, I’m almost certain she’s just putting on a front. “Well, she put in another request to meet with Peeta alone tonight. It seems she was quite impressed with him on your visit last night.”

I’m sure she was. But this is a first, this request to meet with one of us on our own. Maybe it was naive of me, but somehow I figured we would always be called out to make these… visitations together. After all, no one wants to break up the Star-crossed Lovers of District 12, right?

Except I’m clearly wrong. Because someone has requested for Peeta to go, and not for me. But I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them take him, and do knows who knows what to him. “He can’t go alone!” I say. “I mean… are we sure it’s safe?”

“He’ll have a fully armed escort the entire way,” Effie says. “And Ms. Vipointe is very well regarded in high society. Peeta will be perfectly fine.”

I’m not so sure about that. But there isn’t a thing more I can do about it. I walk Peeta up the hallway to our rooms. Once we’re out of earshot, he says, “It’s not that surprising. I figured they’d request us by ourselves sooner or later.”

So Peeta was already a step or two ahead of me. Maybe that’s a good thing he’s the one going, then, if it means he’s better prepared. Then I shake my head, because what am I thinking? It’s never a good thing that he’s sent out to do something like this.

“I’m just glad it’s me, and not you,” he adds.

Well I’m not. “Don’t be ridiculous, Peeta,” I shoot back. “We have to get you out of this.”

He turns his sad blue eyes to me. “There isn’t any getting out of this, Katniss.”

“There has to be,” I insist. “Maybe if we both put our heads together. We could go up to the roof or something.”

“Katniss,” he says. His voice is steady and sure of himself, but even then I can sense how resigned he is to his fate. He’s just putting up a brave front. For my sake.

Impulsively, I launch myself into his arms, pulling him tight against me. He does the same, burying his face in my hair, and we just stand there in silence, knowing there’s nothing either of us can do about this. Not yet. So instead we cling together as long as we can. Finally, Peeta gently pulls away. “I better get in the shower, then.”

I nod, and let him go, watching him until the door of his room closes, sealing him from view. I consider waiting in the main room, so I can see him off before it goes, too, but instead I go into my own room and curl up on the bed until I hear the muffled sounds of Peeta’s escort arriving to take him away. It’s everything I can do not to run out and break it up. But I know it would be useless.

Things die down outside. Then it becomes dead silence in my room. The only sound is my irregular breathing. I try to focus on it, honing in on it alone to try and clear my mind. Maybe I should try to use this time to develop my plan for all of us to escape once we get back. I even have half a mind to go find Haymitch and enlist his input on it, until I remember where we are. Anything we say to each other here is bound to be recorded, picked up on who knows how many bugs President Snow will have been sure were installed in this building. The roof is the only place where you can have any real conversation, and even then it’s risky because the only security is how windy it is up there. On a calm night, it’s probably bugged up there, too.

All the same, now that I’ve thought of it, the roof seems really appealing to me right now. If I stay in my room much longer, I’ll go crazy. And some fresh air would probably do me some good. So on quiet feet, I slip out of my room, and discreetly sneak up to the roof.

Not much has changed up here since the first time I visited with Peeta last summer. Everything is exactly the same. Even the garden seems relatively untouched, save for a few seasonal plants that have been added here and there. I wander through, trying to concentrate on the plants, wondering how natural they actually are, or if they’ve been somehow modified in one of the Capitol’s labs. I recognize most of them, but that doesn’t mean they’re like the plants back home. Not if the white rose President Snow left behind in the study is any indication.

President Snow. The garden. I’m trying to soothe my mind, to try to forget what’s happening to Peeta at the moment. But maybe I’ve come to the wrong place. Being here just reminds me of that time he and I came up here before the Games, when I told Peeta about how I knew the avox. When Peeta asked me if Gale and I were related.

I’m struck by that memory now. Peeta seemed so casual, so unreadable, but now after everything, it seems so obvious he was trying to suss out what was between Gale and me. So much has changed since then. I barely recognize the girl I was during that conversation anymore. I was so oblivious to the way Gale felt about me, the way Peeta felt about me. All I was concerned with was staying alive. I guess not much has changed in that regard. Except whether I like it or not, it’s not just my family’s safety I have to worry about anymore. For a second, I can’t help wondering how Gale would react if he knew what I had been forced to do with Peeta. No doubt, he would be angry. And now I’m feeling worse than ever. Peeta. Gale. The memories become too much. I leave the garden immediately.

Once I’m out of the garden’s confines, I stop paying any particular attention to where I’m going, letting my feet carry me wherever they take me. But I don’t even make it back to the door leading back downstairs, when a male voice calls out, freezing me in my tracks. I know this voice. I’ve heard it before, even if I can’t quite put my finger on who it belongs to. My mind runs through the mental index of whose male voices I know that would be here in the Capitol. It’s definitely not Haymitch, or Cinna. And obviously the voice doesn’t belong to Peeta.

“Katniss.” The voice rings out again, closer this time, and instinctively I turn on my heel to protect myself. But I’m shocked when I realize who the voice belongs to. Because he’s the last person I would expect to find up here, alone, on the roof. Even if he is being housed on the District 4 floor.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. I meant for my voice to be harsh, to warn him not to mess with me, not right now. But it comes out sounding anything but. I can’t mask how anxious I feel. How broken I am. So I remain in place, because it will at least allow me a quick getaway if Finnick Odair attempts anything I don’t feel like I could handle.

“I thought I was alone up here. For once,” Finnick Odair purrs at me.

“I just needed some air,” I say.

He gives a sly smile. “Needed a little alone time away from Peeta? That’s understandable.”

“He’s… away right now. On... business.” My eyes fall to the ground. 

It’s weird… I’m not looking at him, but I sense the shift in Finnick Odair immediately. But he doesn’t drop the flirty act. “You must be very lonely right now, then,” he says. When I don’t answer, Finnick turns and begins walking towards one edge of the roof. “Come on. I’ll show you the view of the city.”

 Even though I’ve already seen the view from up here several times, I follow him anyway. I come to a stop right beside him. I don’t allow myself to get very close to him -- I still don’t trust him -- but just like Peeta brought me up here to talk about something we didn’t want overheard last year, I just know Finnick is trying to do the same.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks as we look out across the tall buildings that stretch across the city. It is beautiful, if you can forget that it’s inhabited by people who watch children fight to the death every year for their own entertainment. People whose greatest concern is what outfit they’ll get to wear to a party tonight, while people in the districts are starving to death. People who pay good money to sleep with Victors of the Hunger Games, regardless of what relationships they may be in, or whether the Victor wants to or not.

“It is if you don’t look too closely,” I say.

Finnick smiles at this. “Are you and Peeta having a nice time in the Capitol?”

Of all the ways to respond to this question, I’m surprised when I want to burst out laughing. Are we having a nice time? Sure, if being sold into what basically amounts to sexual slavery can be considered a nice time. But even up here, I know not to say as much. Especially not in Finnick’s presence. Finnick is from District 4. It’s one of the Career districts, which means it’s one of the districts where participating and winning the Hunger Games is considered a badge of honor. And Finnick Odair, with his amazing physique and his long stream of lovers, is at the very top of that heap.

“It’s… different than we expected,” I say cryptically. It’s the truth, but it also doesn’t give anything away. Because I don’t trust Finnick Odair for one second.

“It usually is,” he says. “Often it’s different… company, than you expect.”

There’s no mistaking the pointed way Finnick emphasizes the word ‘company.’ It catches me off guard, and I can’t help looking suddenly over at him. He turns and looks back just as quickly, and in his eyes I see something I never expected to see. He’s searching for something, trying to figure something out. It’s sadder than I would have expected, but also more urgent. “Have you seen the garden?” He asks out of nowhere.

“Yes… Peeta showed it to me last year,” I say slowly. I’m also pretty sure he saw me leaving it just moments ago, if he didn’t see me go into it in the first place. But just like I knew there was something Finnick wanted to talk about that drew me over here in the first place, I know he wants me to follow him to the garden, to talk where we won’t be heard. Just as Peeta and I knew last year.

I follow him in silence across the short stretch of roof to where the garden is. “It’s quite beautiful,” he tells me as we enter. “Often I like to come up here to select a flower for my… current lover.”

Of course. Everyone knows that Finnick Odair is a playboy. The Capitol has been drooling over him since he won the Games at fourteen years old. Which, if I remember right, would be about ten years ago.

“That’s a lot of flowers,” I say without thinking. Then I mentally kick myself, because what am I doing? Giving Finnick too hard a time could be dangerous, considering what a lapdog for the Capitol he is.

Fortunately, he smiles at this, though it’s a thin-lipped one. “Yes. Too many,” he says.

Now he has my attention. What is he suggesting? Finnick has always given the impression that he enjoys his playboy lifestyle. Has something changed? Has he actually fallen in love with somebody? “I thought you liked having a lot of lovers?” I ask. "You never have the same one."

He’s silent for a second, like he’s thinking over what to say next. “It was never really my choice,” he says at last.

That’s when it hits me. This is what Finnick wanted to talk about, isn’t it? I think back to our interaction at the party, how odd it was. And the long line of lovers. My head swimming, I begin to piece together the equation. Could it be? He’s staring at me now, watching me as I work through all this. Waiting to see if I’ve figured it out.

“They’re doing it to you, too,” I whisper. And I can tell from the sad look on Finnick’s face that it’s true.

“I’m sorry, Katniss,” he whispers back. What for, I’m not sure. He isn’t the one doing this to me. To us. And it’s not like he’s cheating on me. We’ve barely met. And while I can’t deny that he really is very good-looking, Finnick Odair has never been particularly attractive to me. Maybe because of how easy it would be to lose him 

“What for?” I ask.

“Because they’re doing it to you, too,” he says. “Because I know how awful it is.”

There are so many questions I want to ask, that I don’t even know where to start. How long has this been happening to him? He was young when he won his Games -- younger than Peeta and me. Did they really sell him into this that soon? “How do you stand it?”

Finnick Odair fixes me with a look so cold, I could swear my body could freeze over. I feel my heart sink. He doesn’t. Obviously he doesn’t. He doesn’t even need to say it to me, because that icy glare tells me everything I need to know. Still, Finnick finds it in him to answer with words.

“Find… a way to make it worth your while,” he tells me slowly. “They can pay you, you know.”

Pay us? I let out a bark of laughter. “They don’t pay us. They pay Snow! Like he doesn’t already have enough money.” Because unfortunately, I’ve been to that mansion he lives in. I know the luxury he’s living in. And even if I hadn’t ever been there, hadn’t seen its opulence with my own eyes, it wouldn’t matter. Everyone in Panem knows the vast amounts of wealth President Snow has. He rubs it in our faces every chance he gets.

“It doesn’t have to be money,” he says. “It can be anything. Anything you desire. I haven’t dealt with anything as common as money in years.”

“Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company,?” I ask, somehow feeling both disgusted and intrigued at once.

“In secrets,” he says, smiling mysteriously.

What on earth is that supposed to mean? “Secrets?” I repeat, looking at him incredulously.

Despite the heaviness of our conversation, he flashes a sly smile at me. “They may love to play up their lives on TV. But plenty of Panem’s elite have things they don’t want others to find out about. So if they want my attention, they have to tell me.”

“Even though they’ve already paid?” I ask. “How on earth does Snow let you get away with that?”

“He doesn’t. Consider it my own personal form of rebellion.”

A shiver runs through me, and even though I know it would be very hard to catch anything we’re saying, I can’t help glancing around us at Finnick’s words. It’s dangerous enough to mention rebellion of any type -- even anything as intangible as what Finnick is talking about--in the districts. But to do it right here, in the Capitol? On the Training Center roof? Fortunately, the wind is so loud, I don’t think anyone managed to pick up on it. Besides, if there’s anyone who could feasibly get away with that kind of a comment, even if they are selling him, it would be Finnick Odair. I begin to relax.

“What would I do with secrets?” I ask, dropping my voice as quiet as I can possibly get it, while keeping it loud enough for Finnick to still hear me.

“Whatever you’d like,” he tells me. “Or find something else. Whatever makes it more bearable for you.” Suddenly, he straightens up, and the Finnick I’m familiar with, the flashy, seductive, playboy Finnick is back. “Well, I have to be going,” he says to me. “It was a pleasure spending time with you, Katniss. We should do it again sometime.” And like that, he leaves me alone with my thoughts on the roof.

What a… strange encounter. It was enlightening, to say the least. So it’s not just happening to Peeta and me. Of course it isn’t. I was so caught up in the trauma of it all that I never gave it much thought, but it makes sense that this is something Snow would force on the other Victors. Who else is he doing it to? All of us? Or does he just target a select few who he knows would be particularly destroyed by it? Does he save other horrors for the other Victors?

I stay up on the roof for a long, long while, looking out over the city as everything I’ve learned sinks in. Eventually, my mind begins to wander off to other things, maybe because I need to think about something lighter, more pleasant. I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. Too much. Honestly, I’m not sure how much more I can possibly take. What are they doing to Peeta right now? How can they make him go on his own? We’re the Star-Crossed Lovers. Who could possibly be so cruel that they’d want to break that up? Even if it is something of an act. But they don’t know that. As far as they’re supposed to know, it’s completely real. Or do they? The people who can afford to buy even one Victor lover would clearly have to have a lot of money. And Finnick mentioned something about them being elite enough to know useful secrets. So then would they know the secret about us? Or do they really not care either way if we’re attached to that?

I think I know the answer.

Peeta. What is he doing right now? As I take in the sights of the city sprawling around me, I revisit our excursion into its depths. Was that really only today? With everything that has happened, it already feels like ages ago. If I had known what awaited us when we got back, I wouldn’t have been so quick to return. But then again, maybe that’s exactly the reason this happened at all. As punishment, for our daring to break away from our guards. We had claimed we merely got separated and lost. But it’s not all that hard to see through that excuse.

Eventually, I head downstairs. It’s quiet back on our floor. I don’t see anybody, but I know they must be around. Haymitch is probably drunk somewhere. I don’t know about Effie. What time is it? Is Peeta back? If not, she could be down collecting him after his… appointment. I check his room. He isn’t in it. So he’s still gone. Something dark twists in my stomach. But there’s nothing else to do right now except to wait.

So I go to my room, and order a few things to eat and drink. I realize I’m starving. Between my anxiety over Peeta going it alone, and the shock of learning the truth about Finnick Odair, I guess it’s no surprise my body craves more energy. I know I could use it. I’m a little tempted to go wait out in the main room for Peeta, but I quickly decide against it. There’s no telling what state he’ll be in when he gets back, but I do know it won’t be good. It would be better to go to him alone in his room, after everyone else has left him alone.

It’s close to midnight when I finally hear footsteps belonging to several people out in the hall. I hear Effie talking to someone about something, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. But I know instinctively, without even having to check, that Peeta is with her. I go right up to my door, so I can have a better idea of what’s going on out there. I can’t quite tell how many of them there are, but whoever is out there, they’re not responding to Effie’s prattle.

Listening as closely as I can, I wait until it sounds like everything has died down out there. Then I wait a good additional half hour, just to be sure, before I decide it’s safe enough to leave my room. I’m hoping against hope the hallways really is empty, and I won’t encounter anyone. It was bad enough being afraid someone would decide they needed to check in on me, what with me being right pressed up against the door like that. I’d rather avoid any questioning from parties I don’t care to answer to. 

Fortunately, there isn’t a single soul in the hallway once I finally creep my way out. I glance up and down, double- and triple-checking, convinced I must be on camera, and whoever is watching will come out as soon as they see me. Why, though, I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m planning on doing anything wrong. All I want to do is check on Peeta. I’ve done far worse, today alone.

  
I knock quietly on Peeta’s door, shifting my weight nervously from one side to the other, and then back again. It seems like it takes ages for him to answer, though I’m sure it must really be something like thirty seconds. When the door finally does slide open, I’m still not prepared for what greets me. I take one look at Peeta’s face and let out a gasp.


	7. Chapter 7

Peeta stares back at me with hollow eyes. I just stand there, my hand clasped over my mouth, feeling like an idiot for reacting the way I did. But I can’t help it. I’ve been through the worst with Peeta. I’ve seen him pale and dying in the arena. I’ve seen him completely naked, forced to do things to me against his will, and how angry it made him. But this? This is something new entirely. Peeta looks like all the life has been sucked out of him. Like the strong body of the boy who stands in front of me, the blond curls, the blue eyes, are all that remains of the Boy with the Bread.

  
“What happened?” I ask in a loud whisper. He’s still with it enough to shake his head and move to the side, indicating I should come inside. He’s right. The hallways is definitely not the place for a conversation like this. Though I have to wonder if his bedroom is really much better. Surely they’re listening in on us here, too, right? I mean, wasn’t that the entire reason everyone keeps going to the rooftop when we have conversations we don’t want anyone else to hear?

  
I’m the one who makes sure the door closes, and locks, behind us. Peeta seems to forget about this task in the middle of doing it. Instead her crosses over to his bed and sinks down onto it, staring blankly into space.

  
“Peeta?” I try once. My voice is small; I feel so helpless right now. Something happened out there, something that even Peeta hasn’t experienced before. Which is really saying something now, when you think about it.

  
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he buries his head in his hands. I hate that I’m so bad in situations like this. Peeta is the one that knows what to do during these things. Not me. But Peeta is the one who needs the help now.

  
“What happened?” I prod again. He didn’t answer the first time, so I don’t exactly expect him to answer me now. But I have to do something. I can’t stand all this silence. I can’t stand the suspense.

  
Finally, there’s some sign of life from him. He shakes his head, still staring blankly off into space. “I don’t know.”

  
“You don’t know?” I repeat, feeling puzzled. How can he not know? I ask him as much.

  
He just shrugs, shaking his head again. “I didn’t know.”

  
“What?” I ask, noting the pleading tone that’s entering my voice. I don’t want to hurt him by pushing him when it’s obvious he isn’t doing too well, but I also don’t know how much longer I can take this agony.

  
Naturally, he doesn’t respond. So I just stand there, feeling as awkward as I can be, trying to figure out what on earth I should do right now, while he buries his head in his hands.

  
Well, I can’t do nothing. So I do the only thing I can think of. Crossing the room, I sit down next to him on the bed and watching him, waiting for my next cue. He looks up suddenly, as if surprised I’ve actually moved to sit so close to him. I should probably say something now, but again, this is normally Peeta’s forte, not mine. I have no idea what I should be saying to him right now.

  
Fortunately, Peeta is the one who solves this dilemma by finally speaking himself. “She… did things,” he starts.

  
Well yeah, I want to say. I took it for granted that she did things. The question is, what kinds of things? Actually, never mind. I’m not sure I want to know. Maybe it’s better if Peeta does keep things to a minimum.

  
In the silence, Peeta slides his arm down his thigh so that it rests where his amputated leg ends, and the prosthetic begins. “It’s what she wanted,” he whispers.

  
“What?” I’m so startled by his random non-statement, that I momentarily forget my decision not to pursue clarity.

  
“My leg,” he says, his voice a little bit stronger this time. “She… was into it.”

  
I don’t know what he means by that, but I do know that I definitely don’t want to know further details now. Whatever it means, it’s clear it’s a very bad thing. Still, I know I can’t just abandon him now. Peeta is usually the one who needs to talk things over when he’s upset.

  
A wide range of emotions seem to cross Peeta’s face all at once while he processes the answer to this question. I see him swallow a couple of times. It makes me wonder if I’m even doing the right thing at all. Should I leave? Would he be better off if I just left him alone right now, to try and forget whatever it was that happened to him out there?

  
He doesn’t seem to think so. “She had a… a… a fetish. For amputations,” he finally explains. “She did things that… that… “ he stops, unable to finish his thought. But he doesn’t need to go on. I don’t need to know the details. I already feel disgusted. Enraged.

  
“Oh. Peeta… “ now my voice is a whisper as I stare at him. “Wow.”

  
Peeta just lays back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He looks as though he wishes he could be anywhere but here right now. Well, except maybe back at the client’s house. Here is definitely better than there. But all the same, I think he probably wishes he could disappear right now if it meant he never had to deal with this again.

  
I’m no good at this stuff. But even so, I lean down so that I’m right next to him, and wrap my arms around him the best I can. I feel him tense at first under my touch. Then he relaxes. Places one hand on my arm, while we just lie there in silence, trying to figure what in the world we’re going to do to deal with all this.

 

 

 

  
We leave early the next morning to return to 12. It’s a relief to say the least, but at the same time, I haven’t to admit it isn’t much of one. I’m afraid there isn’t much relief left anywhere these days. Even back in the district, we’re at their control. And they’re clearly watching us. How far does that go? Are they taping us in our own homes? Recording our conversations? Just the very thought of it feels so violating, I can’t stand it. I make myself get up and wander around the train, just to keep myself moving.

  
Truthfully, my head is still reeling from everything that happened last night. I haven’t had a chance yet to talk to Peeta about my conversation with Finnick Odair, and everything I learned from him. I want to, I keep meaning to. It’s just that there’s been no real time to do it. Obviously I couldn’t tell him last night in his room. He was in no shape to have that kind of a conversation. And really, he isn’t doing too much better today, either. Even if he was, though, this isn’t a safe place to have that conversation. I’d have to wait for a stop, but even then I’m not sure I could get him out of his room. He’s been cooped up in there for most of the trip so far.

  
So I guess that just leaves home. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Even if our homes are being monitored, it’s easy enough to talk someplace where we won’t be heard. The road from Victor’s Village to the shops usually isn’t very well travelled. Maybe I could join him on a trip into town the next time he goes to visit his parents. It’s probably as safe a time as any, honestly.

  
We have to figure something out. I don’t know how much more either of us can take of this. Especially after last night. And to know that this is something that happens regularly to the other victors… and Peeta’s own comment from the night of our engagement party comes back to me. Maybe we were wrong to try and stop any attempts to revolt.

  
Maybe it’s not too late. I saw what was happening in the other districts when we were on our tour. Some of them were so on edge, I wouldn’t be surprised if they already are rebelling. So maybe the best thing to do, instead of escaping into the wilderness to get away, would be to escape to one of the rebelling districts. Try to enlist their help or join their uprising or something.

  
Back in 12, the state of the district is almost shocking, compared to what it was like when we left. Things were already looking bleaker than usual when we stepped on that train. But now, everything seems even more subdued, more downtrodden. Stocks have been built mere feet from the different shops that align the town square. People look away quickly, and disappear equally as quickly inside the nearest doorways.

  
“What happened?” I murmur to Haymitch as we survey the scene. We weren’t even gone all that long. It’s only been a few days.

  
“It looks like the Peacekeepers have had a change of heart in how they do business,” he says, looking around. I look over at him, trying to read his face for more. But Haymitch, like always, keeps his face unreadable.

  
A car is at the train station to pick us up, and drive us back to Victor’s Village. Haymitch, Peeta, and myself all climb into it, cramming into its back seat. Peeta is just as vacant as he’s been since he came back last night. He seems to barely even notice the change in the district as we drive through it. He doesn’t bat an eyelash, not even when we drive past the whipping post a mere few feet from the bakery.

  
Once we reach Victor’s Village, I know I should go in my house. In fact, my mother and Prim are both there, waiting for my arrival so they can welcome me back. I give them each a hug, holding them tightly as I do, before pulling back. I give a sideways glance to Peeta, who is just now climbing out of the car. “Peeta’s not feeling well,” I tell my mom and sister. “I think he ate something bad on the train. I’m going to make sure he gets into bed before I go home, okay?”

  
They both look a bit surprised, but nod. I turn, and join Peeta’s side, accompanying him up the stairs of his front porch, then wait as Peeta fumbles in his pockets for his key. He finds it, turning it in the lock and opening the door to let us in. Once we are safely inside, he heads immediately to his front room, and flops down on the couch, staring blankly up into space.

  
I was hoping I could talk to him about my new plan to escape 12 and join another district’s rebellion. But I can see now that this isn’t a good time to bring it up. In fact, I’m not sure what I should do at this point. Get him into bed? Stay with him for a while, so he doesn’t have to be alone? Leave him alone so he can process his thoughts by himself?

  
“Are you hungry?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Thirsty?” Another shake. I stand there, waiting for some sort of cue from him, but none comes.

  
“Um. I guess I’ll go home now,” I tell him. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  
Finally, he nods.

  
In the days that follow our return, I quickly learn that Snow has not been idle in securing the district while we were away in the Capitol. It turns out there’s a new Head Peacekeeper. A man named Romulus Thread, who made quick work of reforming the lackadaisical practices of our peacekeepers. No one is quite sure what happened to old Cray, the old Head Peacekeeper.

  
“I need to talk to you,” I finally tell Peeta in a hushed tone one afternoon, when he’s finally had enough time to recover and listen to my plan.

  
He eyes me curiously. “What about?”

  
Now that I’m right on the brink of saying, I suddenly feel nervous. Paranoid. I can’t help glancing around the house, wondering what will be heard, how careful I should be right now. “About what we talked about in the garden that time,” I say. It’s vague enough that no one listening in will know what I’m talking about, but Peeta will know exactly what I’m referring to.

  
He looks thoughtful, and stares off into the distance. Almost like he’s not quite here. Maybe he isn’t. I’ve seen traces of this before, in the arena, on the tour, when Peeta seems to have another world tucked away inside him. “Do you really think that’s still a good idea?” He asks at last. “I mean, with everything going on here? They’d notice.”

  
“Yeah,” I admit. “We’d have to be careful. But… I’ve revised my plan a little.”

  
“How so?” he asks, looking genuinely curious.

  
“Remember what you said at the party at Snow’s mansion that one time? About us being wrong to… to, well, you know.”

  
He thinks back on it, and nods. “Yes. So, what’s your plan?”

  
I don’t know how to get out the rest of it without just saying it straight out. But we’re sitting at the table in my kitchen. Even if the house isn’t bugged - which is unlikely - my mother or sister could still overhear what I’m about to say. And even though they’ll be a part of this plan eventually, I think it’s probably better if I don’t include them just yet. If I iron out all the details before I tell them about it. “Let’s take a walk,” I tell him.

  
He agrees, and we grab our coats and shoes and head out the front door. We only get to the middle of the courtyard the houses of Victor’s Village are centered around before I stop, though, and turn to face him.

  
Peeta comes to a sudden stop, clearly not anticipating my move. He looks at me, half-curious, half-amused, but remains silent as he waits for my explanation.

  
“We need to get out of here. Out of 12, I mean,” I whisper as quietly as I can. “And get someplace that can help us.”

  
Now he looks truly confused. “Help us?”

  
I nod. “Peeta, President Snow told me himself that several districts were on the brink of an uprising. We saw it with our own eyes. I think, maybe, if we can escape from here and just get to one of them… maybe we can join forces and fight back.”

  
He frowns, which worries me. That was not the reaction I expected out of him over this. “What’s making you want to do this now?” he asks.

  
Isn’t it obvious? After what happened to him in the Capitol… after what’s happened to us, what’s happened to at least some of the other Victors… how could I want to do anything but? Because if that’s what they’re doing to us, the supposed strongest and best Panem has to offer… what’s to stop them from doing something just as bad to our families? Or maybe they might even do worse.

  
“Because- Because of what they’re doing to us,” I tell him. “And Peeta… it’s not just us.”

  
This catches his attention. He gives me a hard look, like he’s trying to deduce just exactly what I’m getting out. “What do you mean?” he asks me.

  
I glance around us, just to make sure we really are alone, so no one overhears what I’m about him. “While you were gone that night. I went up to the roof, and Finnick Odair was up there, too.”

  
He makes a face. “The playboy?”

  
“Yes. But no, not really. Peeta, you’ll never believe what I found out from him.”

  
“I’m waiting,” Peeta says, looking like he’s not sure he’s even going to believe whatever I’m about to tell him. Which only serves to fuel me more in my need to make him understand this.

  
“It’s happening to him, too,” I hiss. “Those people we always see them with, they’re not actually his lovers. They’re people who have bought him.”

  
A strange look crosses Peeta’s face, like he can’t quite absorb what I’m telling him. “How do you know he was telling the truth?” He asks.

  
Now I feel borderline angry. Why isn’t he believing me? “Because I could tell by the way he was telling me about it. Peeta, you have to believe me!”

  
He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I do believe you. But, it’s just… it’s getting hard to even understand what’s going on at all anymore.”

  
Well, he’s right on that account. “That’s why we have to try and figure it out,” I tell him.

  
He bites on his lip while he thinks this over. “Come on,” he motions with his head back towards his house. “Let’s talk this over someplace where it’s warmer. I just made cheese buns this morning.”

  
I should probably argue about the questionable security of talking this over in either of our houses, but the lure of cheese buns is too much for me. Peeta has kept a steady supply of them ever since he found out they were my favorite. He brings them over to our house on the regular. Besides, it is cold out here. Maybe we can figure out a way to talk in shorthand that won’t be easy to pick up on by anyone listening to our conversation.

  
Once inside Peeta’s house, I peel off the layers of coats, hats, gloves, until I’m finally in my normal clothes underneath. Then I head promptly to Peeta’s kitchen where, as promised, he shows me his fresh batch of homemade cheese buns. I greedily begin chewing on one while he takes a seat across from me, fixing me with those blue eyes of his.

  
“So… why do you think another district could help?” He asks.

  
“Shh!” I warn him, glancing around, like I might spot a microphone in any corner. He picks up on what I’m hinting at quickly.

  
“Sorry,” he says quieter. “I guess we’re not safe anywhere.”

  
I shake my head, and try to choose my next questions carefully. “Because… because we have to do something,” I tell him. “Look what they did to you!”

  
Immediately, I regret saying it. Peeta closes off, refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry, Peeta,” I say sincerely. “I was just trying to make you understand-”

  
“I understand,” he says curtly. This stuns me into silence. I just sit there, trying to figure what on earth I should do, what I should say next in order to get through to him.

  
We just sit there like that, at an impasse, as I stare at him, but he refuses to make eye contact with me. I don’t know how much time goes by. The second hand on the clock in his kitchen ticks for what seems like an eternity. “Peeta,” I finally whisper, surprised myself by the sound of my own voice because I hadn’t really meant to speak. But I might as well continue now. “What happened?”

  
The silence that follows is some of the most tense yet. I can practically feel the internal struggle in Peeta as he decides if he should tell me or not. Part of me doesn’t really want him to answer myself. But Peeta has been so off, so angry and weird ever since it happened, that I don’t know what else to do. But I can’t see him like this, not for much longer.

  
At last, he answers, his whisper so low and hoarse, it rips through the silence and gives me the chills. “It was my leg,” he says.

  
“Your… leg?” I repeat, not sure I hear him right, and definitely not sure what he’s getting at.

  
“She had a- a fetish for it,” he explains, his voice a little louder. He still doesn’t make eye contact. “She did things to it, and made me do things, that- “ he trails off, unable to finish. He’s said enough anyhow. He really doesn’t need to go on.

  
“Peeta,” I try, but he just looks away from me, frowning. I think he feels like he’s said too much. Like I’m going to think less of him for something he had no control over. Impulsively, I do the only thing I can think of. I jump to my feet and go around the table, wrapping him in my arms.

  
I can feel him tense up under my touch. “What are you doing?” He asks.

  
Now it’s my turn to feel uneasy. I drop my arms and pull away from him. “Hugging you,” I say, feeling a bit annoyed.

  
“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Katniss. I can’t feeling like you’re pitying me.”

  
“I’m not,” I protest, feeling a little surprised, and maybe even slightly insulted. “I was just trying to help.”

  
Now Peeta climbs to his feet with a sigh. “There’s nothing we can do,” he says, obviously frustrated. “We’re trapped. Don’t you see? They’re going to make us keep having these- these sexual encounters with each other, and with everyone else, because they know it’s exactly what we don’t want. Or else they hurt our families. It’s how they’re controlling us!” He stomps out of the room at that, slamming the kitchen door behind him as he does, leaving me in silence to ponder what on earth just happened.

  
I’ve only really seen Peeta one other time before this. It was that day in District 11, on the Victory Tour, after the man had been shot and Peeta realized that Haymitch and I were keeping things from him. He had gotten pretty upset that day, smashing a vase and yelling at us both to the point where Haymitch actually made him apologize to me later. It wasn’t my fault, he had told Peeta. We were both stuck in this nightmare together. And we still are, forced to do all these things against our will to control us. Just like Peeta said.

  
I considering going to check on Peeta, but somehow I think I might just make things worse. I decide to leave him be, let him cool down a little bit on his own first. Then I’ll try talking to him later. If he even wants to talk to me later. I don’t think I would blame him if he didn’t.

  
The next day is Sunday, which means Gale is off from the mines. His only day off. I haven’t had a chance to see him since we’ve been back from the Capitol, because he spends long days working down there. And I just haven’t been ready to see him yet. Not after all that’s happened.

  
But today, I know I need to get to him. I need to tell him my idea. He’ll understand it for sure. He’ll see what I couldn’t make Peeta see, about this being our only hope. Gale has always wanted to stand up and fight against the Capitol, anyway. It might not be here in 12, like he wanted. But it will be something. At least we’ll be fighting.

  
I’m tempted to try and sneak out to our usual meeting place beyond the fence. But the rumor is that the fence has been turned back on. In fact, I wander down there, just to be sure, and sure enough, there is the familiar buzzing sound that indicates it’s not safe to crawl under. So then it’s doubtful Gale will be out there at all. Which means the next place to check is at his house. I set off for the Seam immediately.

  
Hazelle answers the door when I knock. She doesn’t look surprised to see me. “He’s here,” she confirms. “He went out this morning, but he’s back already.” I can tell she already knows about the fence.

  
Maybe Hazelle wasn’t surprised to see me, but Gale actually seems to be. “Katniss,” he says as he steps into the room, looking like I’m the last person he expected to see sitting at the table.

  
“Hey,” I say, feeling a little awkward. We haven’t really spoken much since that one afternoon at the cabin. I was too embarrassed by my reaction, and too caught up in my own problems. He hasn’t said it, but I suspect Gale was a little hurt. He doesn’t know what all has happened to Peeta and me. I feel like I should tell him, so he understands it’s not personal that I reacted that way. But I can’t. I just can’t do it. I don’t know how to talk about it. If I’m honest, I don’t really even want to talk about it. And besides, I can’t help but worry what Gale would do with the information, once he found out. He’d probably attempt to start his own uprising right here, in 12.

  
“I wanted to talk to you,” I tell him. I glance over at Hazelle, who is busy washing a tub of laundry, to try and pass the hint. We need to talk alone.

  
Fortunately, Gale understands my mind better than anybody. He understands what I’m trying to tell him. “I was going to carry a tub of clothes out to dry for my mother,” he says. “You can help if you want.”

  
I follow him outside as he scoops up the tub and exits to the dingy little yard in front of the house. It’s hardly an ideal spot, considering anyone could walk by and overhear what we’re saying. But it’s going to have to do. Maybe I can conceal the conversation somewhat by muffling our voices behind the clothes or something.

  
“So. Did you have fun in the Capitol?” His voice is cold and flat, and I can tell Gale has been stewing over my latest visit for some time.

  
“No. Of course not,” I say, bitterly at that. A part of me prickles that I would ever even have fun at what I’m forced to do when I make these trips out to the Capitol, but I stop myself before I light into Gale for it. He doesn’t know what’s really going on, I remind myself. From his perspective, Peeta and I just taking joy trips out to parties in the Capitol to promote President Snow’s agenda. It’s like his worst nightmare come to life.

  
Gale doesn’t really respond. He just gives me a look while he grabs a few items of clothing from the pile and begins to pin them to the line. I grab a handful myself and begin to the do the same.

  
“You don’t need to do that. You can afford to have someone do your clothes for you, remember?”

  
“Stop it, Gale,” I frown at him. “You know I don’t like it any better than you do.”

  
“No. I can’t say that I do know that,” he says, refusing to make eye contact with me.

  
“Well, it’s true,” I shoot back at him, and then I sigh. This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go at all. I need to convince Gale to escape with me out into the woods, and in order to do that, I have to convince him that I’m still on his side. So, once again, I decide to cut directly to the heart of the matter. “Gale, I need to talk to you about our plan to escape into the woods.”

  
He just looks at me, one eyebrow raised, and a skeptical expression on his face. “You sure you want to do that? It might involve accidently touching me again.”

  
There it is. An admission that Gale hasn’t gotten over the incident in the cabin at all. It’s clear he’s still angry over it. Still hurt over it. So I do the only thing I know I can do. I apologize. “I’m sorry. About what happened. I really am. I’m just- I’m so on edge, all the time. Little things set me off. Stupid stuff, that never used to get to me before,” I tell him, looking at him, pleading with him with my eyes, my tone of voice, to please believe me. “It wasn’t you. It just surprised me. I’m not good with surprises anymore.”

  
“You never were all that good with surprises to begin with,” Gale says. And then he flashes me a grin at last, and I know my apology has worked. He’s coming back around. I’m so relieved, I can’t help actually grinning back at him. I can’t even remember the last time we’ve joked around like this. I can’t remember the last time I really joked around with anyone, for that matter.

  
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, a lot more openly this time.

  
“I’ve changed the plan. Just a little,” I explain as we work to pin more clothes on the line together. “We still go. But instead of surviving out in the woods, we make our way to another district.”

  
“I’m confused,” Gale says. “How exactly does that help us?”

  
I have to remind myself that Gale is even more in the dark about what’s happening in the rest of the country than I am. And I can only feed him my suspicions. “Gale… I think the other districts are rebelling.”

  
This has the intended effect.

  
“What?” He turns at me, looking at me like he can’t believe he heard me right. Like he has to make sure I really meant what he thought I said. “How do you know this? What have you heard?”

  
“Not… much,” I admit, already sort of regretting going down this road with him. “Just things I’ve heard here and there. I told you what President Snow said. And just the things I saw when we were on the Victory Tour.”

  
“What things?” Gale looks disgusted that I would even bring the tour up, but I can tell he’s trying to let it go in light of the much better information that accompanies it.

  
“The restlessness,” I tell him. “And, well… “ I pause, wondering just how much I should really tell Gale. I want him to go to another district with me, to help fight back, but Gale seems so ready to join up in the rebellion that I’m afraid he might not even wait until we’ve left to start in on anything. But Gale and I don’t keep secrets. He alone knows how I operate. So I tell him. About the coordinated signal given in 11, about the man who initiated it and how he had been dragged to his knees and shot in the head by the Peacekeepers. I tell him how in the other districts, you could just feel it in the air, how they were about to rebel. “And that was a few weeks ago,” I say as I finish. “I know Peeta and I haven’t done enough to stop it. So I can only think they’ve actually started to rebel by now. Or they will be, at least, by the time we get to them.”

  
Gale frowns. “That sounds awfully risky, Katniss,” he says. “What if we get to one of these districts, and they’re not rebelling after all?”

  
I have to think for a minute. Admittedly, I hadn’t thought of that. Only of how desperately I need to get out of here. “I don’t know,” I confess. “We can figure it out from there. But we have to get everyone out, Gale!”

  
I regret my choice of words almost immediately. Gale gives me a good, long look, like he suspects he knows what’s really going on. “And has our party changed at all, since the last time we had this discussion?” he asks.

  
“No.” I knew that was his hang up. I feel myself growing angry. How can he be so caught up in his feelings at a time like this? “We can’t leave Peeta behind, Gale. They’re hurting him just as much as they are me!” Maybe even more so, at this point.

  
“Is that what this is really about? Saving your fiance?” He clips another shirt to the line, refusing to look at me.

  
“He’s not my fiance,” I say for what feels like the millionth time. But at this point, I’m not sure why I even bother or care. Gale doesn’t seem willing to see reason. If he can’t see past his own feelings to see what’s really going on, that innocent lives need to be protected, well, maybe he can just go ahead and be angry.

  
“Right. He’s only your fiance when you get to go to live it up in the Capitol.”

  
“Forget it!” I yell, not caring anymore who hears me. “Just forget I ever said anything about it.” I turn on my heel to storm off.

  
“Katniss! Wait, Katniss!” I hear him call over me. But it’s too late for him to feel bad. Frankly, I’ve had enough of his tantrums over Peeta. Peeta didn’t ask for this, and neither did I. And after everything they’ve put us through, I just can’t take much more of Gale acting like this.

  
It takes about a half an hour to get from Gale’s house in the Seam back to Victor’s Village. Naturally, the two are placed about as far away from each other as they can be. In the time it takes me to walk the distance between the two, I go over my encounter with Gale, holding arguments in my mind, stuff I wish I had thought to say when I was still there with him. What’s wrong with him? Again I remind myself that Gale has no clue what they’re really doing to us behind the scenes in the Capitol. I start to cool down. He doesn’t know.

  
Still, the fact remains that I don’t have time to play around anymore. I have to do something, and fast. Because if not… if not, I don’t know how I’ll cope. I can’t stand being in this position for much longer. I have to do something, something to tip things back in my favor.

  
By the time I get back to Victor’s Village, I’ve calmed down enough that I’m ready to start forming a plan, instead of stewing in my own anger over Gale, over the Capitol, over the woman who raped Peeta, over everything.

  
“Katniss.” A male voice calls my name from behind me. I whirl around, half-expecting it to be Gale, following me all the way from the Seam for I don’t know what, another lecture or something maybe. But it isn’t him. It’s Peeta.

  
“Just come back from hunting?” He asks. You can tell he doesn’t think it’s a very good idea.

  
“No,” I say. “The fence is on. Can’t get out. I was just in the Seam.”

  
He nods. “Oh yeah, I heard about the fence. I was just visiting the bakery.”

  
We turn at the same time, and continue up the path that leads to our houses. “You seem like you’re feeling better,” I say.

  
Peeta shrugs. “I guess I just had some time to think over what you said yesterday.”

  
“Yeah?” I look over at him. I feel a small twinge of hope, somewhere deep inside of me. “And?”

  
“And I realized you’re right,” he says with a sigh. “I just don’t know what we can do.”

  
“We run,” I tell him. Isn’t it that simple?

  
“I think it may be too late for that now, Katniss,” he says sadly. “How are we supposed to get out of here with the fence turned back on?”

  
I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t put the connection together yet from this morning. But Peeta is right. With the fence turned on, there’s no way we could really get out of here. Not all of us, at least. Gale and I could find a way over, maybe, but how could we get everyone else over it? Certainly Peeta couldn’t do it with his leg. And Haymitch is far too out of shape to do much besides crawl underneath. My mother and Hazelle might not be much up for the challenge, either. And don’t even get me started on Posy.

  
I feel like folding on my knees right here and crying. There goes my only idea. What on earth are we supposed to do now?

  
Peeta looks upset just from watching me. We’ve come to a stop in front of his house. “Come on inside,” he says. “You can warm up. And I’ve been baking.”

  
Not even cheese buns sound good right now, that’s how dire this situation is. But I still follow him inside, and take a seat in front of the fireplace in his front room while he disappears momentarily into the kitchen, then comes back, cheese buns on a plate in one hand, and mugs of something in another.

  
“It’s tea,” he says.

  
“Thank you,” I accept it from him. Despite my lack of an appetite, I still take one of the buns, and nibble on it absently while I stare off into space, trying to figure what on earth we’re going to do.

  
“What do we do, Peeta?” I whisper at last. “We can’t keep going on like this.”

  
“I know,” he agrees. “But I don’t think we should be discussing anything here.”

  
He’s right. I know he is. Wasn’t it exactly what I was concerned about the other day? That they had bugged our houses, were listening in on our conversations? And it’s probably true. It’s exactly the kind of thing President Snow would do.

  
They control every aspect of our lives.

  
No. They can’t control our thoughts, our feelings. And if they’re listening in, maybe there’s a way we can use that to our advantage. I think back to the stories of the Dark Days, when the rebels would purposely feed wrong information to the jabberjays, knowing they would carry it back and throw off the Capitol.

  
Peeta and I don’t know any information, though. There are no rebellions going on here. Or if there are, then Peeta and I don’t know about them. So what can we do, then, that they would overhear, that would be in direct defiance of the Capitol? Of Snow himself?

  
I watch as Peeta gets up to throw another log on the fire. The arms in his muscle tighten, work together as he moves them. Those arms that, even now, even despite the circumstances, make me feel safe when I’m in them. I hear Snow’s voice echo inside my head. _Convince me_ , he had said. And then, in a further attempt to control the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12, to prevent them from causing any more damage, he had sold us, our bodies, to the highest bidder. Because just like with Finnick, and who knows how many other victors, Snow even gets to decide when and how and with whom we have sex.

  
That’s when it hits me. It’s so bold, it’s almost reckless. But what do I have to lose? What do either of us have to lose at this point? But if we can gain even some semblance of autonomy back, at this point, I’ll take it.

  
I rise carefully to my feet. Peeta, who has just finished his work with the fire, turns to face me. He always knew the best way to handle flame. He looks at me now, can see that I have something in mind. I see the question in his face. As I cross the room, he’s just forming the question with his voice.

  
In response, I take his face in my hands and kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I bet you didn't think I'd have the next chapter up so soon. ;) I'm working on this story for NaNoWriMo, so I've been getting a lot done. The next chapter will likely be up by next week, and as you can expect, it'll be a doozy. Things are finally heating up in this story! (No pun intended. :P)
> 
> Thanks to bigbigbigday006/feeding_geese for her help, as always.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all ready for some smut!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to feeding_geese/bigbigbigday006 (who told me to post this tonight, rather than waiting, because "people are going to need smut to read while dealing with their relatives." Happy Thanksgiving! ;) ).

Peeta doesn’t respond at all at first, frozen in place by what I’m sure must have been the very last thing he possibly expected. Me kissing him. My lips on his lips. Willingly. Of my own accord. It was my idea even. I can’t really think about it myself, even, or I know I’ll freak out myself. It isn’t that I’m kissing Peeta that’s the problem, it’s that I’m kissing anyone, at all, without any cameras around. It’s not out of necessity. And what I’m planning to do next is even more daunting.

 

When Peeta finally does come back to life, he pulls away with a start. Really, he practically shoves me away, which throws me off, I’ll admit. That wasn’t the way I expected he’d respond to this. “What are you doing?” He asks, gaping at me with wide eyes, his mouth still hanging open in shock.

 

“Uh- Kissing you,” I say. Obviously. I’m beginning to feel a little silly, though. Had I been wrong? Have Peeta’s feelings for me actually disappeared, after everything he’s been forced to do with me?

 

“Why?” He asks, looking at me with suspicion etched in every part of his face.

 

I don’t really know how to respond. I wasn’t prepared for this at all. Well, I hadn’t been prepared even to kiss him, but I guess I had figured he would just go along with it. I thought he wanted it. But maybe it’s like what Haymitch said about the engagement. He wants it to be real. Yeah, I realize now that I hadn’t thought this one through very well. I hadn’t actually thought about it at all.

 

“It’s all we have left, Peeta,” I say quietly.

 

“What? What do you mean?” He asks me, looking completely lost.

 

“I mean,” I begin, drawing in a big breath because what I’m about to say, I’m quickly realizing, is going to require a lot of explanation. And maybe because I need to buy myself a little more time to figure out what that explanation is.  “He tries to control us by making us do these… these things with each other.” I can’t bring myself to give a name to the acts. “But I realized, if we do it ourselves… “ I trail off, not sure the best way to explain this in a way that doesn’t sound awful.

 

Understanding dawns on Peeta’s face. He gets what I’m alluding to; I won’t have to explain it any further, thankfully. But now he looks horrified. “I’m not sleeping with you just to get revenge on President Snow, Katniss.”

 

“No!” I rush to reassure him. “That’s not how I meant it.” But then I fall silent, because I’m not really sure how I did mean it. “Not exactly,” I add weakly.

 

Peeta just stands there, looking lost. He looks from me to the fireplace, lost in thought. Then he looks back to me, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what that something should be. “I’m not doing that to you,” he says at last, quietly, searching my eyes for something.

 

“But I want it. Please, Peeta,” I whisper, taking a step towards him, bridging the gap he’d created when he’d pushed me away during our kiss.

 

We stand there like that, at a stalemate, our eyes locked on each other. I try pleading with Peeta to hear me, to understand me, and that this really is what I want. Peeta looks unsure, but looks into my eyes so intently, like he thinks he might find the answer to his question there if he looks hard enough. I’m just about to give up, to give in and apologize for springing such a stupid idea on him, when he places his hands on my shoulders, and tugs me to him for a kiss.

 

It takes me by surprise so much that now I’m the one who it takes a minute before responding. Then I realize what’s happening, that Peeta seems to actually be agreeing to this, or at least giving it a try to see how it feels. I make myself relax, taking in his scent. He smells like vanilla today, and I wonder what all he’s been working on in the bakery. That’s the wonderful thing about kissing Peeta -- he always smells good. Like whatever he’s been baking. Or at least he does whenever we kiss when he’s had a chance to bake, which admittedly hasn’t been all that often.

 

I allow my lips to become pliable, moving with his, even opening my mouth a little to let him in. Peeta brings his hands up from my shoulders and cups my face in them, holding me still. But I don’t feel trapped. I feel safe, secure. Here, with the warmth of the fireplace intermingling with the warmth from Peeta’s body, his two solid, steady hands cupping my face… for a moment, I actually forget the circumstances surrounding this. For a moment, I just let my body feel.

 

At last, he pulls away slowly, his eyes still shut as he breathes deeply. “Katniss,” he murmurs my name, like there’s a reverence to it; like he needs to remind himself that what’s happening right now is real. My own hands come up and wrap around his wrists, holding onto him tightly.

 

When his eyes finally flutter open, his pupils are two large, black pools as they stare out at me, gaping from behind the current of those long lashes of his. “Katniss,” he repeats my name, his voice no louder than before, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

 

I open my mouth to argue, to convince him why we should do this, when he covers it with his own before I can even get a word out. So much for needing to convince him.

 

“It might destroy me,” he continues when we break apart a minute later.

 

“Then don’t,” I whisper back, knowing, deep in my bones, that he’s not going to stop now. We kiss again, and I loosen my grip on his wrists, bringing my arms up to wrap tightly around his neck. He wraps my arms around my middle and pulls me flush against him. And it feels good, I have to admit, to be pressed so close to him. It’s nothing like those times we’ve been forced to do this in performance for anyone watching. And it’s a relief, because if I’m honest, a part of me wasn’t entirely sure I could go through with it, either, if it was going to be a repeat of that. But now I know it’s not. Now I know this is something entirely our own.

 

Peeta’s hands move up and down my body as he begins to explore it. He works slowly, cautiously, which I’m equally grateful for because I’m not sure how comfortable I am with being touched in places just yet. But Peeta seems intent on making this actually enjoyable. At first, he stays away from the sensitive areas, just rubbing his hand along my backside, and sliding it around to massage my stomach. I shiver under his touch, but I smile against his mouth. It tickles in a good way.

 

“You like it?” he mumbles against my lips, his breath tickling. I just nod, hoping he’ll continue.

 

I realize how hot it’s become in here. I’m still bundled up in all my winter clothes. Even my braid is tucked away inside my hat. It seems wrong, now. I tug it off and let my braid fall down my back. Then I just hold my hat, crumpled in one fist, while my other arm clings to Peeta while we kiss. It helped a little, but I’m still too hot.

 

When I pull back, Peeta snaps his eyes open, surprised at the empty space I’ve created. He looks at me, looking like he thinks I’ve changed my mind, like he knew this was too good to be true. But when he sees me unzipping my jacket, he relaxes. Even watches my hand with those blue eyes as I pull the zipper down, then shrug the jacket off. I hold it, folded in my arms, trying to decide what to do. This was my father’s leather hunting jacket. To simply drop it on the floor feels disrespectful. But I also know I can’t stand the thought of having it out while I do what I’m about to do. It would be like having my father himself here watching this.

 

Peeta seems to understand my holdup, however. “The coat closet,” he says. “It’s got hangers.”

 

I nod, and go to hang it up. I’m a little surprised when Peeta follows, but he just checks the door to make sure it’s locked. Good thinking. The last thing I could stand right now would be if anywhere were to walk in on us. He disappears into the kitchen, probably to make sure the back door is locked as well. While he’s checking, I pull the blinds shut. There. Complete privacy, except for the one way we hope we will be caught.

 

He comes back, looking a little nervous, searching my face, probably to check if I’ve lost my nerve in the short interruption. I haven’t. But I also know that I’m no good at this. It took everything I had for me to attempt to flirt with him when we were in the arena, and that was no where near to this level. I don’t know how to get us back to where we were a minute ago.

 

But Peeta doesn’t waste any time getting us back on track. Once he feels safe in the knowledge that I’m still on board with this, he crosses the room and takes me in his arms. Puts a hand under my chin and tilts my head up for another kiss. Hot. I’m still so hot.

 

I know what this means. It’s time to take this to the next level. But I’m too nervous to undress any further in front of Peeta. Even if he has seen me naked before. Somehow, that was different than this. This feels much more private. I decide to leave things be for now, and just get caught up in the sensations. I breathe deep, taking in that delicious scent and his comforting warmth. I press against him, desperate to feel him against me again. Then I wonder what it would feel like with our skin against each other. And nothing else.

 

It makes me blush, to think such a thought, which is ironic considering it’s basically what we’re working towards right now, anyways. I don’t think I’m the only one thinking about this, though. I can feel Peeta, hard against my thigh. It makes my heart pound, to feel it, just right there like that. Because now it’s becoming real.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta manages to break our kiss long enough to gasp. “If we’re really going to do this, it has to be different. I can’t do it like they made us do it.”

 

I nod, knowing, on some deep, visceral level what he means. “What do you want to do, then?” I ask.

 

He looks a bit embarrassed. “Would you laugh at me if I said I need you to be gentle with me?”

 

I do laugh, but not in the kind of way he was afraid of. More because it’s so innocent. So comforting. So exactly what I’m going to need as well. “Of course,” I say, giving him a smile as I wrap my arms around him.

 

He returns the embrace. “I don’t really know what to do now,” he admits. “I- I’d never really done this before… you know.”

 

“Me neither,” I say, though I cringe. The fact that I was a virgin was all too obvious for all parties involved.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks me again.

 

“Yes,” I confirm. “But we probably should hurry before I chicken out.”

 

“Me too,” he says. “We’ve seen each other naked before. Should we just do it, and get it over with?”

 

“Okay,” I agree, but the thought makes me more nervous than I think I should be, considering the circumstances. He’s right, we’ve been naked with each other more than once. He has been inside of me; we’ve done this whole thing before. But at the same time, everything about this feels different. I’m more nervous about stripping down to the nude than it makes sense for me to be.

 

I watch as Peeta begins to unbutton his shirt. Well, he’s started. I guess I might as well get this over with. I begin removing my own clothes, slowly, still trying to keep as much of myself covered for as long as I can. I’m hoping I’ll just ease my way into feeling comfortable to take off the rest.

 

Finally we’re down to just our undergarments. Peeta stands shirtless, wearing only his boxers. I’m in my bra and underwear. We stand now, and actually dare to look at each other, sizing each other up. “I think that’s good,” he says. “We can start with this.”

 

Peeta takes me by the arm and leads me over to his couch. We sit down, both of us looking anywhere except at each other, until finally, accidentally, our eyes make contact and then lock on each other. “You really do look beautiful, you know,” Peeta says, giving me a shy smile.

 

It reminds me of that time, after the Tribute Parade, when Peeta complimented me for looking good in flames. He gave me that same shy smile then. Unexpected warmth had rushed through me, just like it’s running through me right now. And just as it had made me kiss him on the cheek then, I lean into him now. Only it’s not his cheek I kiss. He places his hands on my shoulders again, like he has to hold onto me to remind himself that this is actually happening. It is a little surreal, I have to admit. But I let that warmth I felt fuel me, propel me. I channel it, making it grow inside me, spreading from somewhere inside my chest all through the rest of my body, and out to the entire tips of my being.

 

Peeta begins to lower til he’s laying on his back, me on top of him, straddling him on all fours as I kiss him. Remembering his request, that I be gentle with him, I try to make them as soft as I can. But it gets harder and harder to hold back, as my head gets more and more hazy. I can’t think straight. I’m not sure it’s bothering Peeta much, though, as his own kisses in return become more and more intense. His arms, which had been wrapped firmly around me, begin to loosen, his hands exploring my backside.

 

It tickles to feel it now on my bare skin, the way he just barely grazes his fingertips over the surface, causing me to flinch and break our kiss as I can’t help laughing into his mouth. I can feel his own smile against mine, and he does it again, resulting in exactly the same scenario.  

 

“Why are you doing that?” I ask through my laughter.

 

“I like to hear you laugh,” he says. Somehow, this comment both saddens and lightens my spirits at the same time. When I think about it, how many times has Peeta actually heard me laugh? I try to recall the times he might have -- I know I remember giggling when Caesar was interviewing me on stage last year, mostly because it’s something I never do -- but other things are capturing my attention right now. Namely, his hot lips as they press against the most sensitive parts of my neck. A fresh wave of warmth rushes through me, stemming from where his lips touch my skin, and without even thinking about it, I begin pressing against him even more.

 

My body takes over from here, doing things before I even have a chance to weigh out if it’s a good idea or not. The more we touch, the more we kiss, the more hungry for him I become. I know I had been worried about this before we started, but it’s almost funny how quickly this has become so easy.

 

Somewhere along the way, my bra finally comes off. It makes me nervous and excited all at once. With Peeta the only one here to see my breasts, I’m surprised that there’s something actually empowering about this. When he touches them, taking each one in his artful hands, my breath hitches in my throat. Then he starts using his mouth, and I lose all sense of anything in this world as he sucks my nipples until they’re hard.

 

I want to cry out when he stops, straightening upright. I wrap my arms around him, pressing hard against him, running my hands through his curls as I beg him with the entirety of my body. “Fuck, Katniss,” he whispers. I don’t think I have ever, not once, heard Peeta use that word. It’s not like him. But right here, with him like this… it does things to me. “I need to be inside you, or I think I might explode.”

 

I would laugh, except, I realize, it’s exactly how I feel. I don’t say a word in response. I’m already sitting in his lap, facing him. So all I do is adjust my position, so I’m resting on bended knees, nestled on either side of his thighs. Peeta knows what I’m doing almost immediately. I feel him reach underneath me, and pull himself steady. Ready. Waiting.

 

Now I hesitate. This is it. This is the big moment, or at least that’s what I’ve picked up on from all the people we’ve been forced to do this in front of. But it always seemed so intimate, so dangerous. Do I really want to go through with it now? I can feel myself beginning to lose my nerve. I don’t think Peeta would be upset with me if I backed out now. Disappointed, maybe, but he would understand why. Do I do this? Then I think of everything that’s been done to me, to Peeta, and Finnick, Rue, Prim… everyone. All these thoughts pass through my mind in mere seconds, and it only takes another second for me to sink down and take him inside me.

 

I let out a little whimper. It’s true, I’ve had Peeta inside me before. But there was never any real opportunity to really take in the entire experience. In fact, all I wanted then was to get him out of me, to get away from the whole thing and run far, far away. But now? It actually feels… good. It doesn’t hurt, like I had been afraid it would. I guess that only really happens the first time. Amazed to the point of feeling almost overwhelmed, I manage to lift my eyes up to look at Peeta.

 

His mouth is hanging open; he looks like he’s holding his breath. His pupils are nearly black pools as he stares back at me with heavy lids. There’s a distinct kind of heat in the way he looks at me. It propels me to further action. Balancing my weight by grabbing hold of the back of the couch, I push my body up, and let out a sharp gasp. It feels even better when you move. Another thing I somehow hadn’t noticed during the performances. Peeta seems to feel the same way, because he lets out a little groan as I do. Grinning at him, I lower myself, taking him inside me again.

 

Up and down, I work my body. I gain the confidence to take my hands off the cushions, and use them to grab onto Peeta’s shoulders instead. We manage a kiss, before losing our balance as he falls out of me. We laugh, nervously, as we pick up and continue. We try again, slower this time, and get it. Feeling more secure, we pick up the pace again. Peeta runs his hands up and down my back, and even dares to touch me down below after a while. It makes me feel self-conscious at first, to have him poking around down there. Then I realize how good it feels. I let him continue.

 

I don’t think the actual act lasts longer than five minutes, but it’s so new, so overwhelming, it feels like much, much longer. Then I feel Peeta begin to twitch inside me. I feel some new wetness down there, different from my own.

 

“I think you’d better get off, Katniss,” Peeta warns. I don’t really want to stop, actually, but I know if I don’t, I will most likely regret the decision later. With one last pump, I push off, and settle down beside him. I’m still hot and throbbing down there, feeling entirely unsatisfied. Like there is more my body craves. But I’m distracted by how hard Peeta is, fascinated by its proximity and the fact that it’s shiny with my own wetness. His one hand grabs it and begins stroking furiously; a minute later a white, milky substance comes out as Peeta groans loudly, arching his back and then collapsing on the couch again.

 

I’ve lost him now, at least momentarily. Peeta lies slumped on the couch, panting, his eyes shut tight. I know he must be a million miles away right now. I’m not really sure what else to do, so I just watch him, and wait for him to recover. When he does, his eyes flutter open, and he looks at me with a dreamy smile on his face. Then he remembers himself, sitting up as he looks at me in concern. “Are you okay?” he asks. Average, everyday Peeta is back, replacing the boy besotted with lust.

 

“Yeah,” I say. “I just… feel… “I trail off, not really sure how to describe it.

 

Peeta looks down. “What do you need?” He asks.

 

I might as well just come out and say it. “It’s throbbing,” I say. It’s blunt, but I don’t know how else to explain it.

 

“Like you’re hurt?” he asks, looking panicked.

 

“No,” I shake my head. “Like… like I wasn’t done.” I look away, unable to meet his eyes.

 

“Oh… I can help that,” he says. There is a distinct note of mischievousness in his voice. I dare to glance over at him, and see he’s smirking. “How?” I ask.

 

In response, Peeta slides off the couch so that he’s crouching on his knees, and moves so he’s directly in front of me. I spread my legs immediately, curious to see where this goes. He just looks at it at first, and it makes me feel so awkward, so uncomfortable to have someone just staring at me down there, that I have to fight the urge to close my legs. But I know I should ride this through.

 

Peeta sticks two fingers inside me, and, slowly at first, begins to pump just as he had with his body. It doesn’t fill me up and satisfy me the way it did before, but it still works, still alleviates the throbbing ache that had been begging to be alleviated. He then brings his other hand, and uses one finger to rub an especially sensitive zone down there, sending a thrill all the way up my spine. Now it’s my turn to collapse against the rear of the couch, almost unable to believe the little mews and whines I hear that are actually coming out of me. It feels so… so good. Now I understand why anyone would go to such great lengths as to actually pay for this. Then I try to shove that thought as far out of my mind as I possibly can, because remembering it would only ruin what’s going on right now. And all I want to focus on is the way Peeta is making me feel; how it’s never felt like this before.

 

At last, my body seems to reach the peak of whatever hill it had been climbing, and with a quiet shriek, it releases the building tension. Now I’m the one panting as I try to collect myself.

 

My eyes still closed, I feel something heavy weigh down the cushion beside me. Peeta. I peel my eyes open and look over at him. He’s already looking at me. When our eyes meet, he reaches out and takes me in his arms, and I curl up in them without a moment’s hesitation, catching my breath while he holds me, kisses me. Slowly, I return to earth. As I do, the full impact of what we’ve just done begins to hit me. It must hit Peeta, too, because as he kisses me on my forehead he asks, in a whisper, “What do we do now, Katniss?”

  
I don’t answer. Because I truly have no idea.


	9. Chapter 9

I slump against the wall of the shower, my mind still racing, keeping pace of my heart. I try to stay zoned in on the emotions, the way the whole experience made me feel, because I know if I let myself think too hard about what just happened, I’ll fall into panic.

 

The warm water feels nice against my bare skin. It’s soothing. I’m tempted to stay in here forever, only I know someone will come looking for me eventually, and I can’t leave it to Peeta to explain what I’m doing over at his place, in his shower. Because then he would have to answer questions about why I’m taking a shower, and that’s a slippery slope I can’t go down. Neither can he, really. Peeta is much better with his words than I am, it’s true, and he can cook up covers for stories at the drop of the hat. But right now I think he’s still too stunned about what just happened to be able to do a very good job at it.

 

I stay in until my fingers are prunes, the wrinkles deep. Then I force myself to get out, and towel off. I catch a glimpse of myself in the steamed up mirror as I’m drying my hair, and stop to take a good look at myself. I still look exactly the same. So why do I feel so different? What I just did… the girl staring back at me would never do. It’s not me. I don’t do these things. I turn away, and avoid looking at the mirror again.

 

Peeta sees me off at his front door once I’m finally dressed, my hair dried and braided so that you would never guess it had come undone over the course of our activities. There’s no sign whatsoever of what we’ve done. But a part of me is still convinced the next person I see is going to know immediately.

 

It’s clear Peeta doesn’t know how to act. Neither do I, for that matter. He hovers near me, and I do pick up on his touching me more than usual, be it something as innocent as a brush of the hand while handing me my jacket from his closet, or the lack of space between us as he stands beside me. Knowing that anything I say would only turn out badly, I let my body speak for me and wrap my arms around him. He doesn’t waste a second encompassing me with his own steady arms. I savor it, closing my eyes and breathing him in. I still feel safer in his arms than I do anywhere else in the world.

 

“I’ll stop by later,” I promise him as I pull away and peer up at his face. He nods, and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then I venture out from the warmth of his arms and house, and go to face the world.

 

“Katniss.” I’m half-way between Peeta’s house and my own, when I hear the very last voice I want to hear right now. Gale’s. Now I really do start to panic. Gale knows my mind better than anymore. If I turn around now, is he going to know, with just one look, what I’ve just done? I know I’m angry with him for how he acted earlier, but I still can’t bare the thought of hurting him with the knowledge that I just had sex with Peeta.

 

Instead of turning to face him, I take the coward’s way out, and simply stop in my tracks, not looking at him while I hear the sound of his footsteps treading across the snow as he catches up to me. Even on snow, his tread is near silent. But I’m also tuned in to hearing even the slightest sounds, after all my years of hunting. 

 

He waits until he’s gotten directly in front of me to continue. “Katniss,” he says my name again once he’s finally in my field of vision. I force myself to look at him, knowing that doing otherwise would only make him suspicious. I do feel free to glare at him, though. He deserves that much, after that stunt he pulled in his yard. 

 

“Did you just come from Peeta’s?” he asks, and I can detect that tone of jealousy he’s trying to conceal in his voice. Which only makes this whole thing all the more uncomfortable.

 

“Yeah,” I say. I sound defensive, which could be both a good thing and a bad thing. He probably won’t be surprised, when he already knows I’m already angry with him. On the other hand, considering I already have a guilty conscious, it just makes me feel all the more uneasy about talking to him right now. 

 

I can see on his face the way Gale fights with himself over whether to make some comment over this . But I guess the side that encouraged him to let it go wins over, because he just ignores it. “I just wanted to talk to you. I felt bad about what happened at my house.”

 

Is that all? Well, it’s really too late for that, isn’t it? “Oh,” I say evasively, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I try to move past him, to shake him off so I can go process things somewhere alone. Maybe I can’t get out to the woods, but I can at least go to my room or something, where my mom and Prim won’t bother me too much while I’m thinking. Gale is having none of that, though, as he just starts to follow me back to my house. 

 

“‘Please, can we talk?” He asks, sounding halfway annoyed, and half-way desparate. It’s the very last thing I want to do, but the pleading in his voice gets under my skin, so I stop in my tracks with a sigh.

 

“I’m sorry. Okay?” He says. “I know I should have listened to you. We can still make a plan to run, if you want.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Gale,” I snap. “The fence is turned back on anyway.”

 

“We could,” he says quietly. “If we tried. You and I could get over it.”

 

“What about our families?” I ask, growing more annoyed with this conversation by the minute.

 

He doesn’t offer up a solution. “You’re the one in trouble, aren’t you?” he asks instead. “You’re the one who needs to get to safety. We can figure out how to come back for our families after we get you out of here.”

 

“What about Peeta?” Finally, I whirl around and look him dead in the eyes. Daring him to go on. I can tell it catches Gale off guard, but he’s never been one for backing down. “Why is it so important to you that he goes along?” he snaps, at last coming out with the question I know has been hanging over his head this entire time.

 

“Peeta’s going through the exact same thing that I am!” I practically yell at him. I’m furious by now, because if Gale can admit that what’s happening to me is so bad, why can’t he put aside his differences long enough to see it’s the same for Peeta? There’s no way I could leave him behind. Especially not now…

 

Gale looks ready to fire back, but he swallows his anger and attempts to remain calm. “Maybe we should go inside to talk about this,” he says. “This isn’t a good place to talk.”

 

“It’s as good a place as any,” I say. And really, it kind of is, when you consider that the houses are most likely bugged. “They’d just hear us more clearly if we went inside.”

 

“Maybe so,” Gale actually agrees with me. “At least here. But my house would be safe.”

 

“I’m not sure any place is safe anymore,” I say, more quietly now. 

 

“Well, we can’t stay here, Katniss,” Gale says. “We’re out here in the open.”

 

“We were out in the open when we were talking in your yard, too,” I counter.

 

“You know that’s different,” Gale says.

 

“Do I?” I’m not sure what Gale is implying, but I don’t think I like it. Does he really think Peeta or Haymitch would be any danger to us, if they overheard what we were talking about?

 

“The Seam isn’t as monitored by the Capitol as Victors Village is. You know that.”

 

Oh. He’s got a point there, I have to admit. At least up until recently, the Seam had all but been ignored by anyone in the Capitol. Even the peacekeepers here in 12 would likely ignore it, if it weren’t for the Hob, and the fact that the sellers there are all from the Seam. “Look,” I say with a sigh, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion. “Now’s not a good time. I’ll come by later.”

 

“Later tonight?” He asks.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The thought of trekking all the way down to the Seam again, when really all I want is to sleep for days, doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. But it might be for the best. I don’t know. I really just need some time to pull myself together. So much has happened in the last couple of hours that I don’t know what to do. What to think. What Peeta and I did was supposed to be the act of rebellion. Because we didn’t think we had any other choice. Now Gale is here saying he wants to help come up with ideas for something else. Should I accept his help? Is there even a point in doing so? Maybe; maybe not. 

 

Gale sighs loudly, frustrated. I can tell he thought he was going to get a different reaction out of me. The Katniss he knew would have gone off to plan some sort of escape with him in a heartbeat. But I don’t think there’s any denying I’m not that person now.  _ I _ barely know who I am anymore. “All right, Katniss,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

 

I watch him take off across the courtyard. A part of me says I should be going after him, apologizing, trying to work things out. But I’m so, so tired. All I can do is watch him leave.

 

Shaking off my mother and sister is a little easier, once I finally make it back home. “I ate at Peeta’s,” I tell them when they offer me dinner. “I’m just going to go up to bed.” They share a glance; I can tell they think something is up, because this kind of behavior normally isn’t like me. But whatever they suspect, they don’t voice it. Instead they let me slip upstairs, change into a nightgown, and slink down into the warmth of my bed, wondering what on earth will happen next.

  
  
  
  


I’m not surprised when the call comes in the following morning. Another trip to the Capitol is scheduled for next week. No further details are given, but it’s safe to say Peeta and I are expected to “perform” for some new client again. I only hope it’s not the same woman from last time.

 

“They sure seem to request your presence a lot,” my mother comments over a cup of coffee as I tell her about the phone call.

 

“Yeah, well, you know what it’s like there in the Capitol. We’re practically celebrities to them,” I laugh nervously, hoping it’s convincing enough.

 

First thing after breakfast, I’m bundled up and out the door, planning to get to Peeta’s house as soon as possible. I’m waylaid by Haymitch, however, who happens to be on his way over to see Peeta himself. 

 

“Got the phone call, too, huh?” He asks me gruffly as we meet up on the pathway.

 

“Yeah,” I say, “early next week. Do you know what they want us to do?”

 

“Just the usual,” he says. He follows me up the steps to Peeta’s front porch. I rap on the door, wishing Haymitch would change his mind and decide to go home and drink, annoyed that he has to be here in the first place. Because what I really want, what I really need more than anything right now is some time with Peeta alone. Especially since this will be the first time I’ve seen him since… since what happened yesterday.

 

Peeta opens the door after a moment. A smile lights up his face when he sees me standing there. Then he notices Haymitch standing behind me, and while he does a good job maintaining his friendliness, I can tell he’s about as happy about his uninvited guest as I am. 

 

“They called me, too,” he tells us as we each take a seat around his kitchen table. I noticed Peeta seemed to avoid having us sit in his front room. I wonder if it’s because it’s where we slept together yesterday. There is something kind of awkward about the idea of Haymitch sitting there, when just the day before we had been… well, I’m glad we’re in the kitchen, anyway. 

 

“Is there anything we can do to get out of it, Haymitch?” Peeta asks as he settles in a chair across from him.

 

“Doubt it. Unless you can settle things in the districts and ensure total allegiance to the Capitol. I think you know how well that would turn out.”

 

“Is there anything we can do at all?” I ask, knowing how hopeless the situation is before I even get an answer.

 

“Just stay in love. Keep the act up,” Haymitch says as he begins picking away at a tray of cookies Peeta has on his table.

 

Peeta and I exchange a look. 

 

“Is there something I should know about?” Haymitch asks, looking between both of us.

 

“No,” Peeta says quickly. I shake my head in agreement.

 

Haymitch eyes us both suspiciously. Something tells me he doesn’t quite buy it. But if he does or if he doesn’t, he doesn’t push the issue any further. “They’re going to want your presence these next few months,” Haymitch continues. “Since it is a Quell year. Normally they like to bring all the Victors to the Capitol, parade us around to promote it. I haven’t been around for one as a Victor before, but I’ve heard the stories. And you can bet there’s going to be plenty of bidders on time with you two. Snow will only be too happy to fulfill their requests.”

 

I’d nearly forgotten about the Quarter Quell. This year will be the third one ever, marking the 75th anniversary of the Hunger Games. Normally there is some extra twist to the rules. One year, they made everyone vote on who was going to be selected to go into the Games. Another, twice as many tributes were selected than normal, which meant 48 tributes were put into the arena. That was the year Haymitch won.

 

Another thing it means, Quarter Quell or not, is that this is going to be the first year I’m going to have to play mentor to some poor girl selected to be 12’s tribute. Just the thought alone is enough to make me sick on any normal year. But on a Quell year to boot? Just knowing there will be some twisted take on the Games in order to make it “special?” And knowing that even if you do somehow make it through and become a Victor, that doesn’t mean you’re out of anything? Knowing the life Peeta and myself, and who knows how many others, are forced to go through?

 

“So get ready,” Haymitch says, rising from his chair and starting for the exit. “The fun is only just getting started.” The door closes behind him, leaving Peeta and me to just stare at each other, trying to process everything Haymitch has put into perspective for us that we hadn’t quite put together yet for ourselves. A small part of me can’t help thinking Peeta will have it a little easier than I do. He, at least, will have Haymitch to help him coach the boy tribute from 12. I’ll be by myself to deal with the girl. Then I shake my head, because what am I even thinking? It’s going to be awful no matter what position we’re in.

 

“Do you think it’s true?” Peeta asks. “About them wanting us in the Capitol more than usual now?”

 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably.” It seems like something they would do. Parade us around like it’s actually something any of us in the districts would be excited about. Make it look like we’re supporting something as horrible as a Quarter Quell, instead of being against it, like we really are.

 

Peeta just rests his head in his hands for a very long time. I stare out into space, thinking about everything and thinking about nothing all at once. Even if I could make sense of my thoughts, would it really be any good? There’s nothing we can do at this point. We are trapped. Nothing we can do except for the one thing we’ve already done. 

 

Peeta looks up at me. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am. I drop my eyes, feeling, I don’t know, shy I guess, for some stupid reason. But when I get up to leave, and he follows me to the front room, somehow I end up in his arms, holding on tight.

 

“Do you regret it?” I ask. It feels like such a weird question to ask, considering I’m wrapped in his arms right now. But given everything, I guess it’s not that weird after all.

 

“No,” he says after a moment. “Not unless you do.”

 

I take a moment to think it over. “I don’t,” I say at last. 

 

“Then neither do I,” he shake his head. And it’s the truth. I don’t regret what we did yesterday. It’s something we’ve done together already as it is. At least this time, it was on our own terms. And it was actually pleasant, which took me completely by surprise. For a moment, I’m tempted to kiss him, to start up with him all over. But I fight the urge, and settle for giving only a peck on the cheek as I leave to go check up on the traps in the woods. 

 

When I return that evening, however, it’s another story. I make my usual rounds, dropping off food to those around the district I can’t stand to see without enough to eat. Gale isn’t home when I stop by the Hawthorne’s house, which is a relief, I won’t lie. I know I need to talk to him, to resolve the issues between us. But I’m not ready to do it just yet. 

 

When I finally make it back to Victor’s Village, I stop by Haymitch’s house first, making sure he hasn’t killed himself yet with alcohol poisoning, that he’s actually bothered getting something to eat, and okay, maybe to make sure he won’t disturb us on my next stop. Because when I’m done there, I head immediately to Peeta’s.

 

I’ve brought a squirrel over for him to have for his dinner. I tell him I’ll stay, skin it for him so he doesn’t have to, because it keeps my mind off of things to do it. Then one of us -- I’m not even sure who, at this point -- grabs the other and initiates a kiss, and it’s all downhill from there.

 

Forty-five minutes later, I’m naked, lying on top of his equally naked body on his kitchen floor. We didn’t even make it out to his front room this time. We’re both panting, and I think how funny it is to feel the rise and fall of his chest against my own as I do the same. Sometimes we’re in sync; others, we’re so off, our chests bump into each other. Peeta strokes a hand languidly through my hair, almost like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. But it feels good, so I don’t point it out, in case he stops.

 

“Do you think they heard us this time?” He asks me. It takes me a second to realize he means the Capitol.

 

“I hope they’re the only ones who heard us,” I say. We’re already getting better at this. There were points this time around where I was honestly afraid that Haymitch or, worse, my mother or sister might have heard us all the way from the other houses. 

  
  
  
  
  


The week comes and goes, always faster than we want it to.

 

We find ourselves on the train, heading back to the Capitol. This is starting to happen so often, you’d think it would be second nature by now. But it’s still just as scary as it was the first time. At least Peeta and I have each other now, though. The very first night, we fall into the same pattern as on the Victory Tour, with Peeta joining me in bed. Only this time, something does happen.

 

“I wonder if Effie heard that,” I say when we’re finished.

 

“I was kind of making an effort to be more quiet, actually. Do we want to be heard here?” He asks. 

 

“No. I don’t know. Effie just made a comment to me about our sleeping arrangement during the Victory Tour. I thought it would be ironic if she heard us now that there actually is something to hear.”

 

Peeta laughs. “Seriously, though,” he says. “Maybe it is good if they hear us. It’s just as likely to get back to Snow as it is back home, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought when she confronted me on the Victory Tour.” Look how well that turned out for both of us, though.

 

We’re not even given time to settle into the Training Center when we reach the Capitol. We’re whisked away to our next client as soon as we arrive in the station. It’s every bit as horrible as other times -- the client makes Peeta watch as he has sex with me. Horrified, and feeling more violated than ever, if that’s even possible, I clench my eyes shut and try to imagine it’s Peeta on top of me instead.

 

Later that night, long after we’ve returned to our floor on the training center, and everyone else has gone off to bed, it  _ is _ Peeta on top of me, as he tries to help me forget how terrible the experience earlier had been. This time, it’s hard to truly enjoy it to the extent that I have before. But just the feel of Peeta moving inside me, of knowing it’s him and not anybody else, anyone who is unwelcome, is at least comforting. When we’re finished, I stay wrapped in his arms for the rest of the night. My sleep is fitful, but at least I feel safer in his arms than I would otherwise. And when I sleep, I’m not haunted by nightmares.

 

There are no plans for us the following day. At least not during the day. The evening has us slated for another appearance, just as Haymitch had said. We have the whole rest of the day to ourselves, though. But they won’t let us leave the Training Center. They won’t make that mistake twice.

 

They do, however, allow us down to the training floor of the training center. It’s hardly ideal, but at least it’s something to do. As soon as we step off the elevator, a shiver runs up my spine as the memories from training before the Games hit me. It feels like at any moment, Cato or Glimmer, Foxface or Thresh should come around the corner, fresh off one of the stations. Or Rue will go gliding across the practice nets, like she’s practically flying… 

 

I have to get my mind off the ghosts. I grab Peeta’s arm and drag him over where the archery supplies are stored. For the next couple of hours, I attempt to teach him how to shoot.

 

It feels so good to lose myself in the activity. At first, while I’m demonstrating for him, I get so caught up in it that I actually forget what I’m supposed to be doing, shooting arrow after arrow at the targets instead. It helps me clear my mind, to focus. It isn’t until Peeta comments about my performance that I remember myself with a jump.

 

“Sorry,” Peeta says with a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“It’s okay. I got kind of caught up in it. I’m sorry too.” I say, honestly feeling a little bad because I was supposed to be teaching him how to shoot, not shooting for my own benefit.

 

“Don’t be,” he says, still smiling. “Watching you shoot is something else.”

 

“Here, you try it out now,” I say, feeling my cheeks burn. Peeta makes a comment about not being very good, but I dismiss it quickly. “You just have to try it out, and practice,” I tell him. “I wasn’t any good when I first started, either.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that,” he tells me. “I think you were probably good from the first arrow you shot.”

 

“No, it’s true,” I tell him, laughing a little myself. “I had to practice a lot before I could even hit the side of a tree.”

 

I make Peeta take position, circling around him to correct his form, pushing an arm into place there, nudging a foot further out there. He pulls the string all the way back to his ear, just as I tell him to, and holds it, waiting for my command.

 

“Go,” I tell him, when I’m finally satisfied.

 

The arrow flies, sailing through the air. It doesn’t have enough force driving it, though. He didn’t release the string quickly enough. It lands a few feet short of the bullseye.

 

“Not bad,” I say.

 

“That was better than I thought I’d be,” he admits.

 

“Next time, be a little quicker on your release. Then the arrow will fly further,” I tell him as I walk over to pluck it up from where it fell on the floor.

 

He follows my instructions, and on his next try, the arrow does indeed make it to the bullseye, though it still hits on the very edge of it. 

 

“See, you’re getting it,” I say.

 

He gives me a grin as he lifts the next arrow up and places it in his bow. “Soon I’ll be joining you in the forest,” he says.

 

Not with that leg, he’s not. And I can just imagine how much Gale would love that. Peeta replacing him on all those days he’s stuck working in the mines. But I don’t voice either of these concerns to Peeta. “Well, we won’t be able to make it out there anymore, with the fence turned on,” I remind him instead.

 

“Oh, that’s right,” he says. 

 

Did he really forget? That seems like an amazing feat to me, considering the fact that I can never seem to shake that particular memory. It’s lucky I no longer need to go out there anymore to keep my family alive. I can only imagine what it would be like if different circumstances had caused them to do this when we were still living in the Seam. Peeta, on the other hand, always had enough to eat. Not being able to sneak off into the woods to hunt wouldn’t have affected him at all, save perhaps the squirrels I would trade with his father that I know he ate occasionally. And he wouldn’t have been able to see me as often, either…

 

I catch the glint in his eye as he smiles at me. Maybe he did remember after all. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my own face, and instead turn back, forcing myself to concentrate on our shooting.

 

We practice for at least another hour. After I’m satisfied that Peeta is grasping the basics, I pick up another bow and begin shooting myself. Peeta makes a comment about how bad his looks next to mine, but laughs it off. After a while, though, he sets the bow down and wanders off towards the camouflage supplies.

 

“This seems more my style,” he tells me. I let him start working with the supplies while I shoot, but eventually my own curiosity wins out. I put my bow back and head over to where he is to watch him.

 

“Do you think they’ll be okay with this?” I ask, watching him as he works with the paints. The archery station was one things -- you can’t really use up any of the equipment, and it doesn’t leave a mess behind. But over here, clean up is require. Though I admit I’m not really all that concerned if they have to pay to order more supplies to replace what we use up. Goodness knows they can afford it. 

 

Peeta just shrugs in answer. If he has any further opinion, though, he doesn’t offer it. Eventually I sit down cross-legged to watch him work. I’ve seen him do this before, in the training sessions last year when he replicated that bark from a tree that had me so irritated. But I’ve never had a chance to actually watch him work.

 

“Do you want to try something?” He asks, turning towards me.

 

That’s a laugh. “This is your area of expertise,” I say. “I would be horrible.”

 

He just smiles. “You have to start somewhere. Just like I did with the archery.”

 

“Yeah. But that’s easy,” I counter.

 

“That just tells me how natural it is for you in the first place,” he laughs. “It’s not that easy for me. Here, why don’t you try?” He hand over a brush. I hesitate before taking it, but decide to go ahead and give it a try. He’s right about having to start somewhere, and what’s the worse that could happen, anyhow? At worse, we’d just get a good laugh at my pitiful attempts to be an artist. But I could also get a feel for why Peeta likes this so much. I take the brush from his hand. We work for the next hour, painting on some practice scraps that the tributes can use to practice on before they attempt to camouflage themselves that we use. In the end, my attempts aren’t as bad as I had thought they would be, but they’re also no where near up to Peeta’s skill. 

 

“It’s not bad at all,” Peeta says, taking my painting of a yellow blossom from me. 

 

“It’s not good, either,” I say.

 

“You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s good,” he tells me. “Mind if I keep it?”

 

“Sure,” I say, looking down at the floor. For some reason, I’m blushing. Maybe because I feel like such a fraud for painting something someone wants to keep in the first place.

 

“We should probably get back,” Peeta says as he looks at the clock on the wall across the way. “Our style teams are probably going to be here soon to get started on us.”

 

We clean up after ourselves, then head back to our floor. On the elevator, I watch Peeta as he examines my painting. I still think it’s nothing special, but he’s giving it such close, careful attention, you’d think it was done by one of those fancy Capitol artists or something, instead of by me. I wonder if this is how Peeta looks at all art. Again, I think about how I’ve never really watched him with this stuff before. Oh, I saw him at the camouflage station last year in the training center, and I’ve seen enough of his finished products between his decorations for the bakery and the paintings he showed off on the Victory Tour. But before today, I’ve never actually seen him in the process of painting. Even now, though he’s not working on something, it’s like he’s somehow still in the process. His face takes on a special look, like he has an entire world locked away inside of him. I’ve seen glimpses of this before, in the arena. But this is something else entirely.

 

When he moves forward, I nearly jump out of my skin. I’d been paying such close attention to him, it didn’t even register when we reached our floor. Peeta gives me an amused look, quirking an eyebrow at my jumpiness. I don’t offer any explanation, though. Just follow him off the elevator. 

 

Effie makes a beeline for us the second she lays eyes on us. “Oh, thank goodness!” she says. “I was just about to send someone out to look for you. Hurry back to get ready; we’ll be late enough as it is!” She practically pushes Peeta and I down the hallway. We give each other a look, barely stifling laughter for some reason. We part ways when we reach our rooms.

 

Inside, my prep team is already waiting. They launch themselves on me before I barely get a word of greeting in, making comments about the state of my hair, my nails, my eyebrows, though they are happy to say they’re no where near as bad as they’ve been before. I listen quietly while they talk, nodding at the appropriate times. But the longer I sit there, the less attention I pay. Because the impending night and its likely activities are starting to creep up on me. What on earth does Snow have in store for us tonight?

 

When we’re ready, we’re all ushered back downstairs, where cars are waiting to cart us off to the event. I’m not really sure what to expect. I know it’s some sort of gala that has to do with the Quarter Quell. And there’s a good chance that Peeta and I will be sold. But whatever else happens at these things is anybody’s guess. 

 

The event isn’t being held at President Snow’s mansion, for once. Instead, it’s at some fancy large building in the middle of the city. I don’t know why this place was chosen instead. All I can think about is how many more bedrooms a place like this might have. Or if there are none, then how many more private rooms. It doesn’t really matter what they’re technically meant for. These people in the Capitol will make do with anything, as long as there’s some privacy. I’m surprised they even bother with that, to be honest.

 

An awful thought occurs to me. Maybe some of them don’t. Will some Capitol citizen with an especially exhibitionist taste force us to do something in public one day?

 

Inside, things are exactly what you would expect from this kind of an event. Wall to wall people, extravagant displays of food, musicians performing for the crowd. Near the back of the hall is a giant stage, which is clearly being set up for something, but what I don’t I know. It seems we’re going to be a part of whatever it is, though, because this is the direction Effie ushers us.

 

Milling about just to the side of the stage is a virtual Who’s Who of recent Hunger Games history. I recognize everyone from Gamemakers to stylists to victors from other districts. Johanna Mason, a victor from District 7 who won a few years back, stands chatting to Finnick Odair. He makes eye contact with me from over her shoulder; she sees, and turns to see who he’s looking at. I duck my eyes and shuffle forward in the crowd before anything else can happen.

 

A few minutes before 6, we’re all ushered up on stage. There’s a very specific order we’re meant to follow: the Gamemakers sit clumped together surrounding the center microphone, with stylists and other important people sit off to the side of them. Victors are placed on the other side. I take a seat between Peeta and Haymitch, and try to tune out as much as I can of what’s going on around me.

 

Fortunately, not much is being asked of us victors tonight. We’re mostly here for show. The star of tonight seems to be Plutarch Heavensbee, who is officially being introduced as the Quarter Quell’s head gamemaker in what’s being broadcast to the whole of Panem. Nothing is said about Seneca Crane.

 

After the whole thing is over, Peeta and I barely have enough time to get in a quick drink of water and bite to eat before we’re whisked away to some private room above the bustle of the main ballroom. Effie leads the way. She seems unnaturally excited. “Well, this is a special treat,” she twills as the three of us step onto the elevator. “Plutarch Heavensbee himself has requested some time with the two of you!”

 

Peeta and I immediately share a silent glance; in his eyes, I see the same alarm I know must be reflected in my own. Plutarch Heavensbee. Of course, it makes sense that the star of the evening would want the stars of last year’s Hunger Games. But this is different for us. We’ve met Plutarch before. And this will be the first time for either of us being forced with someone we’ve actually spent any time with before. I think back to that night at Snow’s mansion, when Plutarch insisted on dancing with me. A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.

 

We exit the elevator and follow Effie down the hallway in silence. Just as she comes to a stop in front of a door, I feel Peeta’s hand slip into mine. Then the door is opening, and Effie is bidding us goodbye while Plutarch’s face, smiling and sleazy as ever, comes into view, opening the door wider to allow us entry. I guess there’s no getting out of it now. Peeta leads us inside. 

 

As Plutarch shuts the door securely behind us, Peeta and I stop in our tracks. Neither of us are prepared to see Finnick Odair, draped across a chair in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in waiting! I've been overwhelmed between working full time and taking a full time load in school. But never put in a full eight hours for someone else, and forget to come home and work on your own goals, am I right?
> 
> Today is the five year anniversary of when I finished reading the trilogy for the first time. Crazy!
> 
> Things are starting to pick up. What does Plutarch want with Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick? 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to feeding_geese/bigbigbigday006 for her help on this story, for putting up with my shenanigans, and listening to me ramble about my crush on Jemaine Clement.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr and Twitter! My username is shesasurvivor both places.


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